With commendable boldness, the President Clinton, Vice President Gore, and NASA
Administrator Dan Goldin have, in a matter of months, negotiated the merger of
the Russian Mir space station program with the Freedom space station project of
America, Europe, Japan and Canada. From the twin perspectives of national
security policy and space policy, this is an historic achievement.
The space station merger marks the Clinton Administration's major innovation in
national security policy with respect to Russia. The merger was explicitly predicated
on Russian compliance with international norms constraining ballistic missile
proliferation. And this policy of engagement will create institutional interests in
Russia that these norms be observed.
More importantly, however, the joining of the Russian and American piloted
spaceflight efforts represents a unique and highly visible exemplar of the new
partnership between these former adversaries. During the Cold War, the space race
represented a continuing reminder of the bipolar competition. Space achievements
epitomized national aspirations and identities in both countries. There is no more
effective vehicle for demonstrating the fundamental change in the relationship
between America and Russia than cooperation in human space flight.
Unifying the Russian and American space station projects will rank with Kennedy's
decision to send Americans to the Moon as a milestone in space policy. Conceived
in the Reagan Administration as a means of demonstrating the superiority and
solidarity of the Western Alliance, Space Station Freedom was bereft of apparent
rationale with the end of the Cold War. Under the Bush Administration, space
advocates sought to justify the project on scientific and commercial grounds, with
declining success. Absent the reinvigorated geo-political rationale of cooperation
with Russia, the cancellation of the space station was just a matter of time. And
the likelihood of a repetition of the Challenger accident presaged the end of the
Russian participation in the space station will reduce the burden to America, while
permitting accelerated progress toward the project's completion. This improves the
prospects for political support for the Station, while closing NASA's window of
vulnerability to another shuttle accident.
Supporters of this bold initiative should join with critics in acknowledging the
manifold challenges that must be met if these ambitions are to be realized. A
multitude of problems and difficulties stand on the path.
In the first decade of the space age, little effort was spared in the race to the
Moon, despite problems which dwarf our recent adversities. But with the triumph
of Tranquility, NASA's budget was quickly halved. Nonetheless, during the next two
decades of the space age, a host of setbacks and failures were met with a
widespread consensus that the Cold War space race demanded continued American
efforts in space, lest we fall behind the Soviet adversary.
With the end of the Cold War, this broad political consensus dissolved. Though
committed advocates of space exploration and development remained supportive,
others began to question the need for continued effort. These questions became far
more acute as both inevitable and seemingly avoidable technical setbacks and
failures, and cost and schedule problems accumulated in recent years. Absent a
politically compelling rationale for significant investment in space, these difficulties
were transformed into pretexts for further retrenchment, which could effectively end
the space program as we have known it thus far.
With the integration of Russia into the international space station effort, a post-Cold War geopolitical rationale for human space flight has been restored. By broadening the political constituency for space exploration and development, the difficulties ahead will once again be challenges to be overcome, rather than excuses for retreat.
A NEW BEGINNING
At the mid-December 1993 meeting between Vice President Gore and Russian
Prime Minister Victor Chernomyrdin, America and Russia formally agreed to joint
their space station efforts. This agreement was the culmination of an 18-month
process that began in with the October 1992 Bush Administration initiative for an
exchange of American and Russian crews, and a flight of the Shuttle to dock with
The new program will proceed in three phases. Under Phase One, America will pay
Russia approximately $400 million from 1994 through 1997 in support of at least
ten American Shuttle missions to the Mir space station from 1995 through 1997.
American astronauts and experiments will also be launched to Mir by the Russians,
gaining valuable flight experience on the Russian station.
In Phase Two, an initial launch of a Russian core module in May 1997 will be
followed by nine further Russian and American launches of additional hardware,
culminating in a crew-tended facility by December 1997. The addition of a Soyuz
Assured Crew Return Vehicle in January 1998 would establish the potential for
permanent occupancy. Supplementary though as yet unspecified payments will be
made to Russia to support work in this phase.
Phase Three encompasses subsequent launches of the Japanese JEM laboratory in
October 1999 and the European Columbus module in April 2000, along with other
supporting hardware. The assembly of the station would be completed in October
2001, with a permanent complement of six crew members beginning in May 2001.
The joining of the Mir and Freedom space station programs will give clear direction
for America's faltering space effort while reducing its cost, as well as further the
cause of reform in Russia and discourage missile proliferation. It would be a
supreme irony if two separate space stations were an enduring monument to a Cold
War now fortunately ended. NASA Administrator Dan Goldin captured this vision
most clearly in his call for "one world, one space station."
Space Station Freedom was announced in 1984, in one of the darker phases of the
Cold War. Although significant scientific and technological benefits were widely
asserted, the program clearly followed in the Space Race tradition of Apollo, in
which no significant Soviet advance in space could go long unanswered. The new
American station was to be vastly larger than the Soviet Salyuts, which had been
orbiting the Earth for over a decade. This clear assertion of American preeminence
was to be assisted by contributions from Europe, Japan and Canada. This was a
visible demonstration of the solidarity of the Western alliance, which had been
sorely tested by publics made nervous by the Reagan Administration's bellicose
rhetoric and enthusiasm for Cold War contestation.
But subsequent Gorbachev peace initiatives vitiated the case for vigorous
prosecution of the Space Race. And the termination of the Cold War at the end of
the 1980s terminated these geopolitical rationales for Space Station Freedom.
Supporters of Freedom were thereupon reduced to claiming that the station would
significant scientific or commercial benefits. The Station was frequently
characterized as the biggest of the "Big Science" projects. But claims for the
scientific value of the Station found little support in the scientific community.
The commercial potential of the Station were equally oversold, with the prospects
that the Station would actually lead to significant commercial applications quite
remote. Although the Station can support useful materials science research, the
Station was not a high priority for the materials science community at large, which
if given the choice would probably spend the money on other types of research.
Many would contend that a space station is a prerequisite for more ambitious
undertakings in space, such as a Moon Base or a Mars Expedition. A Station could
provide needed experience in operating the types of life support and other hardware
needed for these missions. It could also answer fundamental questions about the
effects of long-term spaceflight on crew members. And it could serve as a staging
base for these more ambitious missions. But the ambivalence of the Bush
Administration toward the Space Exploration Initiative, and the repudiation of this
initiative by the Congress and the Clinton Administration deprived the station of
support on this basis.
The End of the Space Age?
Deprived of geopolitical significance, and supported other rationales of limited
appeal, Congressional support for Freedom steadily declined during the Bush
Administration. The nadir of Freedom's prospects was the vote in the House of
Representatives in June 1993, when the program survived with only a one vote
The demise of the Superconducting Super Collider (SSC), provided a portent of
Freedom's ultimate fate. Frequently linked with the station as a controversial "Big
Science" project, and roundly criticized for cost and management problems, and the
absence of significant international participation, the Super Collider fell to newly
elected members of Congress determined to address the budget deficit. Although the
Clinton Administration had performed radical surgery on the Station in an effort
to address cost and management concerns, the Congress remained unimpressed.
The increasing obscurity of America's need for a space station did not obscure
NASA's need for a space station. By NASA's own estimate, the risk of a
catastrophic failure is 1 in 78 each time the Shuttle flies. With 80 Shuttle flights
scheduled in this decade, there is a high probability of another Challenger accident
before the end of this century. In the face of such an eventuality, it might prove
quite difficult to ever return the Shuttle to flight status, particularly with no space
station for the Shuttle to fly to. Without the Shuttle, it is not apparent how Space
Station Freedom could be built. Without the Shuttle or the Station it could become
increasingly unclear what purposes would be served launching astronauts into space
at all. A hiatus of in American piloted space flight of indefinite or perhaps
permanent duration might ensue. And without piloted missions, it might become
less than apparent why we need a separate space agency such as NASA. And the
demise of NASA would surely diminish support for automated science missions as
Space advocates would strongly contest such a perspective. But other claimants on
the public treasury would surely be invigorated by the prospect of the $10 billion
annual windfall that would result from NASA's demise, and the end of the Space
Thus NASA was in a race against the clock to complete Freedom, or some
substantial fraction thereof, prior to the next Shuttle accident. The presence of
some sort of space station in orbit would surely bolster the case for returning the
Shuttle to flight status after the next accident. Unfortunately, the repeated delays
of the Freedom program during the Bush Administration made it increasingly
unlikely that construction of Freedom would be started, much less completed, prior
to the next Shuttle accident.
The inclusion of Russia in the international space station greatly alleviates these
concerns. Construction of the station will begin much sooner with Russia's aid, and
so NASA's window of vulnerability will be closed much sooner. And the possibility
of transferring crew members to and from the station using Russian space
transportation systems will permit either a more considered effort to return the
Shuttle to flight status, or more time to develop and alternative American space
transportation system, should this seem advisable.
Although there remains a clear and present danger that the Space Age is over,
Russian participation in the space station is the key to averting this danger. It has
also emerged as the key to regaining Congressional support for the program. The
near-death experience of the House vote in June 1993 was not repeated when the
Senate voted on the Station in September 1993. The comfortable margin in the
Senate, as well as in a subsequent House vote in November, must be attributable
in part to the new Russian component of the program.
The restoration of a significant geopolitical rationale for the station dramatically
alters the programs budgetary calculus. When considered as a science project, the
combined budgets of the station and its supporting Shuttle dwarf the budget of the
National Science Foundation, and rival spending by the National Institutes of
Health. But considered as a national security program, the cost of piloted
spaceflight seems quite modest, as the $275 spent each year by the Defense
Department is over 30 times greater.
What About the Russians
While the dissolution of the Soviet Union has ended the Cold War, the aerospace
complex of the fallen superpower continues to pose a significant, perhaps the most
significant challenge, to our national security. The growing glut of conventional
and unconventional arms on the world market can only be read as an omen of
widespread proliferation of advanced weapons systems, especially by this once and,
hopefully, never future adversary. Deprived of Cold War rationale, some elements
of the complex remain leading opponents of reform. Institutions and personnel of
the former Soviet aerospace complex are now searching for new outlets for their
energies, including sales of advanced combat aircraft to Third World countries and
emigration to these countries to work on emerging missile programs.
Initial American responses to this new challenge mirrored the evolution of
American policies toward Germany at the end of the Second World War. Following
the precedent of the Morgenthau Plan, which called for the "pastoralization" of
Germany through the elimination of its industry, the Bush Administration
prohibited any dealings with the Russian aerospace industry that might in any way
sustain a continued military production capability. Such a Carthaginian peace-policy
was ultimately abandoned with respect to Germany, and was ill conceived with
respect to Russia. While the Russian aerospace complex may atrophy, it will not
The second element of the Bush Administration's policy toward the former Soviet
aerospace complex was patterned on Operation Paperclip, which transferred to the
United States advanced German weapon capabilities, such as the V-2 rocket. The
only exceptions to the Morgenthau Plan for Russia were based on the one-time
acquisition of unique Russian technologies, primarily related to the Strategic
Defense Initiative. But this policy of plunder engendered growing hostility toward
In the closing months of the Bush Administration, a third policy approach began
to emerge. And with the advent of the Clinton Administration, American policy
toward Russia and the other former Soviet republics enlarged this opening, finally
embracing the post-World War II precedent that ultimately proved most successful,
the Marshall Plan.
Initiatives to stabilize the former Soviet nuclear weapons complex must be matched
by a parallel policy to stabilize the former Soviet aerospace complex, which is much
larger in size and more varied in scope. In the absence of such initiatives, the
aerospace complex will remain a major threat to stability both in the former Soviet
states, and to the rest of the world.
If the Russian aerospace complex is not to remain a breeding-ground for hostility
to democratic reform, and a spawning-pool for missile proliferation, America must
embark on projects that will dignify their accomplishments and engage their
energies. Most notably, this would include cooperation in civil space projects for
environmental monitoring, scientific discovery, and further human exploration.
Given the current exchange rate of the Ruble, modest expenditures by America
could have a major impact today and be a long-term source of stability, as was the
Marshall Plan. A broad-based program of cooperation in space and other areas
offers the prospect of mitigating these threats to stability and facilitating the entry
of Russia and the CIS republics into the Western community.
Man does not live by bread alone, and it may be that the tangible benefits to the
Russians will prove less significant than the intangible. Since the launch of
Sputnik, space triumphs and achievements were one of the primary claims to global
status of the Soviet people. Bereft of spacecraft (and their nuclear-tipped cousins),
the Soviet Union would have ranked with the Mexico or Indonesia, a country of
some standing, but not one to be reckoned with in the councils of the mighty.
Now deprived of the trappings of colonial empire in eastern Europe and along its
southern and western periphery, Russia and its people face an acute identity crisis.
Other imperiums experienced leisurely afternoons of decay, their gradual erosion
spanning decades or centuries -- the Soviet empire evaporated in the twinkling of
an eye. The loss of the French overseas empire spawned a decade of political
instability as France sought a new role in the world. Even the merest suggestion
that America is no longer number one on all fronts provokes spasms of political
The unexpected and precipitous descent from superpower to basket-case has been
painful and embarrassing. Russia faces a profound identity crisis, as it struggles
to define a role in the world of some dignity and respect. No nation with such a
proud and glorious history can long play the role of beggar and supplicant.
Nostalgia for empire remains a powerful political force in Russia today. Many who
identified with the achievements of Socialist construction or who face uncertain
post-imperial futures yearn for the restoration of the Union of Soviet Socialist
Republics, and scheme toward this end. If these retrogressive dreams are to remain
unrealized, some initiative is required to restore Russia's sense of dignity and self
respect. While there are limits to what the West can do to restore Russia's material
well being (although surely we can do much more than we have), cooperation on
the space station provides a unique and highly visible opportunity to restore
Russia's spiritual well being.
It would be difficult to overestimate the challenges which must be overcome if this
new vision is to realized. Whatever difficulties have been encountered thus far will
soon pale in comparison with those that now stand in the way of the successful
completion of the new plan. Critics contend that these problems are good reasons
for rejecting substantial Russian participation in the international station, and
pressing ahead with the original Freedom concept. Supporters of Russian
participation counter that there is no alternative, short of cancellation of the entire
space station effort.
A Reliable Partner?
The first set of concerns involves the reliability of the Russian space program. A
number of recent problems in the Russian space program have been cited as
indications that Russia may be an unreliable partner, increasingly and
unpredictable unable to fulfill its commitments to the space station effort.
The status of the Baikonur Cosmodrome remains uncertain. Russia and Kazakhstan
have been unable to conclude negotiations on their respective rights and
responsibilities at the facility. Reports of deteriorating conditions in the nearby city
of Leninsk, of strikes and riots, of widespread vandalism and property theft, and
other signs of disorder, have led some to speculate that Baikonur will be unable to
support the Russian side of the station effort.
The Russian Mars 94 mission appears on the verge of cancellation or delay in the
face of a host of internal problems, absent an infusion of Western support which
does not appear likely to be forthcoming. The October 1993 launch to the Mir space
station of the Progress M-20 resupply craft was jeopardized by the failure of the
Samara engine factory to deliver motors for the planned launch vehicle. And the
planned 16 November 1993 launch of three cosmonauts to Mir was delayed until
early 1994 for similar reasons, stranding the old crew in orbit for two months
longer than originally planned.
But reports of the death of the Russian space program are greatly exaggerated. In
terms of actual performance, the Russian space program remains the envy of the
world. Despite the collapse of the Soviet empire and two coup attempts in as many
years, in 1993 Russia launched more spacecraft that the rest of the world combined.
And despite a much lower launch rate, America had twice as many mission failures
in 1993 than did Russia.
Pessimists might contend that programmatic turbulence is a recent phenomenon,
reflecting the decay of post-Soviet institutions. However, it may be that many of
these problems were endemic to the Soviet space program from the beginning, and
are only now becoming more visible to the West. Prior to the end of the Cold War
it was commonplace to contrast the apparent orderly progress of the Soviet space
program with the evident fits and starts of the American space effort. Some
clairvoyant observers, notably James Oberg, highlighted setbacks in the Soviet
program. But with the end of the Cold War it must now be clear to all that the
apparently unfailing consistency of the Soviet effort was a carefully nurtured
facade, masking a programmatic disarray far surpassing that of the West.
There is little doubt that present economic conditions are contributing to the
problems facing the Russian space program. With inflation running at several
hundred percent annually, supplier relations with sub-contractors have been
severely stressed. Purchasers are chronically short of cash, and prefer to delay
payments so that inflation can effectively cut costs by paying last month's bills with
this month's inflated rubles. Suppliers in turn are withholding deliveries, hoping
to charge this month's inflated price rather than last month's obsolete price. With
many vital components produced by a single supplier, incentives abound for
doubling or tripling prices to try to get ahead of this vicious circle.
But the absence of effectively functioning markets always hampered coordination
between enterprises in the Soviet era, and the present difficulties may represent
little more than the continuation by other means of the inefficiency of a command
economy. It was precisely this difficulty of inter-enterprise coordination that
compelled Soviet-era design and production facilities to do most of their work in-house, in contrast to the widespread Western practice of relying on a large network
of subcontractors. Though some bottle-necks may exist, by Western standards most
Russian space enterprises are largely self-contained operations.
Russia as a Partner
A second set of concerns revolves around the reliability of Russia itself as a
partner. There are at least two scenarios under which political transformations in
Russia could imperil the international space station effort. The political orientation
of the Russian leadership could change, leading to their withdrawal from the
program. Or political events in Russia could take an unacceptable turn, leading to
With two coup attempts in as many years, who is to rule out a third or a fourth,
with potentially less pleasant results. Continuing a centuries-old debate, Russia
remains polarized between Westernizers who seek integration with the industrial
democracies, and Slavophiles who advocate isolation from and confrontation with
The agenda of the recently vanquished hardliners, notably Rutskoi and
Khasbulatov, was firmly in the Slavophile tradition. In the weeks before their coup
attempt, they were increasingly explicit in calling for a revival of the Soviet empire.
The same political forces who called for the restoration of the old regime have also
been the most vocal critics of the admittedly limited results of the Westernizer's
efforts. The strict limits placed on cooperation in high technology fields under the
Bush Administration led to a widespread (and not entirely unfounded) perception
among Russians that the Americans were only interested in stealing the fruits of
Russian efforts, while allowing Russian industry to rot. And Yelstin's decision to
halt the transfer of cryogenic upper stage technology to India was strongly criticized
for abandoning a traditional friend.
The future of Russia remains highly uncertain, though many look to post-war
Germany for lessons. American advocates of engagement point to the Marshall Plan
following the Second World War as precedent for a successful transition from
totalitarianism to democracy. But it cannot be excluded that the more relevant
precedent is Germany following the First World War, in which the Weimar republic
degenerated into Hitler's tyranny. In this scenario, Yeltsin the Westernizer is but
a transitional figure in the inevitable slide toward chaos, soon to be replaced by an
authoritarian Slavophile regime which will reproduce all the more alarming
features of Stalin, seeking confrontation with the West in order to restore some
semblance of domestic order.
It is of course precisely this scenario which informs the Clinton Administration's
decision to engage Russia through space cooperation. Russia's future is uncertain,
and it is precisely this uncertainty which holds out the prospect of affecting the
ultimate outcome. It was precisely the Weimar precedent which informed the
Marshall Plan, and between actively working for a good outcome and passively
awaiting a bad outcome, no other choice seems possible.
But less alarming scenarios are also plausible. Political developments in Russia
might not lead to a rejection of the West by Russia, but they could lead to a
rejection of Russia by the West. The successful Apollo-Soyuz linkup of 1976 was to
be merely the first of a more extensive series of joint Soviet-American space
missions, including American Shuttle flights to the Soviet Mir space station. But
in the wake of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, planning for space
cooperation was halted, along with virtually every other collaborative endeavor
between the superpowers. There ensued a virtual fifteen hiatus, with planning for
the Shuttle-Mir missions only recently resuming.
There is no shortage of scenarios under which this unhappy history could be
repeated. The Russian Foreign Ministry, which has primary responsible for policy
towards the industrial democracies (the so-called "far-abroad), has been a consistent
center of advocacy of the Westernizers. But the Defense Ministry, which retains
primacy in dealings with the former Soviet republics (the so-called "near-abroad")
continues to largely pursue Slavophile objectives. The former Soviet army remains
entrenched across much of the near-abroad, and has demonstrated considerable
reluctance to withdraw. The Russian military has been a more-or-less visible
participant in recent fighting in Moldova and Abkazia, has connived in the
attempted overthrow of Edward Shevernadze's government in Georgia, and is
propping up an old-guard Communist regime in Tadjikistan -- to name but a few
of the Army's long list of post-imperial adventures. To legitimize these
undertakings, the Russian government has proposed its own version of the Monroe
Doctrine, under which the international community would formally recognize
Russia's right to military intervention in the former Soviet republics. As this is
precisely the fear that motivates Ukrainian desires to retain a nuclear arsenal, the
West has been understandably reluctant to condone the creeping restoration of the
Given the political outcry that greeted the Soviet intervention in Afghanistan, it is
somewhat puzzling that no similar outcry has arisen protesting the Russian
intervention in so many nominally independent former Soviet republics. With the
crises in Bosnia and Somalia, perhaps there is a limit to how many trouble spots
can be the focus of world attention at any one time. Perhaps the limited resources
of CNN, or local restrictions on news coverage, have limited the visibility of these
military campaigns. Or perhaps some memorable atrocity will quickly focus world
attention, and lead to calls for comprehensive sanctions to bring the Russian bear
Thus for some years to come there will be ample occasion for the West to reject
Russia, and Russian participation in the international space station. And there is
every reason to expect that the space station will be high on the list of measures
invoked in response to Russian misbehavior. For most of this century, Russia
existed in self-imposed isolation from the West, and for the foreseeable future the
ties that bind Russia to the West will remain tenuous. During the Cold War super-power relations were dominated by the arms race and arms control negotiations,
largely because Moscow's isolation produced very little else to talk about. As a
result, arms and arms control became a barometer of East-West relations generally,
with all the hopes and anxieties and all the ups and downs of the Cold War
expressed through missiles and treaties. Thus the Star Wars controversy was not
so much a debate over how many lasers could dance on the head of a pin, as it was
an opportunity and pretext for publicly debating the state of Soviet-American
relations, or science and technology research priorities, or the strength of America's
commitment to Israel.
Though the nuclear legacy of the Cold War will require decades to liquidate, with
any luck we will never again measure the state of our relations with Russia in
terms of missiles and treaties. But until Russia is fully integrated into the
community of industrial democracies, something else must replace nuclear weapons
as the focus of Russo-American relations. This something else is the space station.
For the foreseeable future, no other common activity of Russia and America will
constitute so visible and effective a replacement for the various political uses (and
abuses) which the arms race served during the Cold War. Thus all the political and
public hopes which greeted each breakthrough in arms control negotiations, and all
the fears and consternation which were channeled into dire warnings of Soviet
perfidy, will now largely be transferred from nuclear missiles to piloted spacecraft.
This is simultaneously a blessing and a curse. The piloted space program will now
play an even greater role in domestic and international politics than during the
Cold War, when the space race competed with the arms race for public and political
attention. Space advocates should rejoice that the space program will increasingly
enjoy unprecedented visibility and salience. But the price of this eminence is the
burden of expressing the sum totality of Russia's place in the world community.
Each and every setback in Russia's long path to becoming a "normal" country will
raise anew questions about Russia's role in the space station.
Even absent these larger political considerations, Russian compliance with the
Missile Technology Control Regime (MTCR) will condition the status of the station.
A long simmering controversy over India's acquisition of Russian cryogenic upper
stage technology emerged as a major obstacle in station negotiations in the spring
of 1993. Although the linkage is officially denied, it is clear that the lure of station
contracts was used to encourage Russian termination of the deal with India. Given
the achievements of the indigenous India ballistic missile program, and the
irrelevance of liquid hydrogen propellants for military application, the actual
significance of the transfer of Russian technology seemed difficult to identify. But
critics wonder how America will respond in the face of a truly significant transfer
of Russian missile technology?
Of course, the one of the benefits of Russian participation in the station is that
Russia has agreed to more effective measures to implement the MTCR. And a
domestic center of advocacy for such compliance has been created at the Russian
Space Agency and its contractors. Thus it is to be expected that the likelihood of
an MTCR violation has been substantially diminished, and the probability of
vigorous Russian government enforcement of the MTCR greatly increased.
A Steep Road Into Space
A third set of concerns are focused on the very real challenges of actually building
the proposed international space station. There is no reason to hope that the
station will avoid the normal technical, cost and schedule problems attendant any
ambitious space effort, and every reason to anticipate that this uniquely
complicated undertaking will encounter more than its share, even under the best
of circumstances (which admittedly, may not be forthcoming).
Just as international politics may complicate the space station program, the space
station may complicate relations between Russia and the other station partners.
The practical realities of the station program may themselves become the source
of international conflict, and setbacks in the station program may on balance
damage rather than enhance the progress of Russia into the community of nations.
There will certainly be ample opportunities for the space station to generate surplus
friction and discord. Current planning and budgeting for the first and second phases
of the program, entailing American payments of $100 million annually to the
Russian Space Agency, are predicated on the present ruble-dollar exchange rate of
1000 to 1. Given current Russian wage scales, this looks like a lot more money in
Moscow than in Washington. But it is to be hoped and expected that the present
economic uncertainty in Russia will eventually dissipate, and when it does, the
ruble-dollar exchange rate is likely to approximate 100 to 1. This ten-fold
appreciation of the ruble will drastically alter the perceived value of American
payments to Russia. Unavoidably, America will be called on to pay more in return
for less, and neither party will be pleased with the outcome.
The end of the Cold War has certainly diminished Russian secrecy, but the Russian
aerospace complex remains largely opaque to the West. Throughout the Soviet era
Chief Designers buttressed their autonomy and power by imposing the strictest
secrecy on their activities. This secrecy was not so much to protect themselves from
American spies, but from their real enemies, the other Chief Designers and the
bureaucrats in Moscow.
A failure to adequately understand and monitor Russian activities could seriously
compromise progress on the station. NASA's failure to adequately supervise its own
contractors contributed to the Hubble trouble, and Germany participants in the
Columbus component of Freedom continue to fear that their Italian colleagues
remain economical with the truth in discussing their progress or lack thereof.
All the participants will obviously seek to maximize the utilization of the work thus
far accomplished on Mir and Freedom. Although preliminary designs seem to have
harmonized these efforts, the devil remains in the details, and problems will
undoubtedly emerge as the new configuration matures. A visit to the Smithsonian
Air and Space Museum's exhibit of the American Pershing II and the Soviet SS-20
vividly discloses the stark contrasts of Russian and American engineering design
cultures. The space programs of both countries have over three decades of hard-earned lessons in the right way of doing engineering and program management.
Both will be reluctant to quickly concede the superiority of the others approach.
Both America and Russia have decades of experience as the dominant partner in
international cooperative projects, and little experience in dealing with equals.
NASA has long explicitly rejected placing another country on the critical path to
mission completion, and insisted on retaining ultimate control of cooperative
projects. Europe, Japan and Canada were uneasy partners in Freedom for precisely
this reason, and their apprehensions were largely realized in America's essentially
unilateral decisions relating to Russian participation in the international station.
Thus, as in the Cold War, America will look to NASA as an institutional exemplar,
as the pathfinder on the trail to the post-Cold War world order. A quarter of a
century ago, we asked why we could not solve our problems on Earth if we could
reach the Moon. In the coming decades, we will ask how we can work with Russia
in other fields if we cannot work with them on the space station. NASA as an
institution must be on the cutting edge of the transformation of Russia into a
normal country, providing important lessons on the opportunities and pitfalls of this
newest member of the democratic community. This will require not merely technical
innovation and excellence, but also managerial innovation and excellence. As the
triumph of Apollo was more managerial than technical, the international space
station is largely a managerial rather than technical challenge, one which will
require a fundamental renovation of NASA institutional culture.
America as a Partner ?
A fourth set of concerns completes the circle, as some question whether America
will be a reliable partner for Russia. Certainly from the Russian vantage point, this
remain a live issue for some years to come. When Freedom was first announced in
1984, permanent occupancy was planned for 1992, a year which passed with
Freedom no closer to completion than it was eight years previously. In the interim,
the Salyut 7 and Mir space stations were nearly continuously occupied by dozens
of cosmonauts. In Washington, successive elections were accompanied by wavering
political support for Freedom plans, while revolutions and coups in Moscow had but
modest impact on Mir operations.
The end of the Cold War significantly contracted the political constituency for
Freedom. In recent Congressional debates, the supporter's mantra of "jobs, jobs,
jobs" increasingly exposed Freedom to criticism as white collar welfare. But if the
core constituency of Freedom is NASA's contractor community, will this
constituency be satisfied with their remaining share of the international space
station. Continued die-hard Congressional opposition to Russian participation in the
space station suggests not.
It may be that the declining industrial opportunities in the space station may lead
a critical mass of aerospace contractors to seek greener pastures. Perhaps a
powerful coalition will form under the banner of building a new and economical
launch vehicle. Or perhaps a forceful center of advocacy will embrace the
proposition that a station in low Earth orbit is a roadblock on the path back to the
Moon, not a stepping stone. In the labyrinthine politics of aerospace industrial
policy, it may be that the restructured space station program now has such a
narrow corporate constituency that many former Congressional supporters will have
lost interest, and would not object if the demise of the station opened up new
opportunities for their favorite industrial patron.
The restructuring of Freedom management in the spring of 1993 elevated Boeing
at the expense of McDonnell-Douglas, and failed to find a place for previously
marginal companies such as Lockheed. Boeing's continued strength in passenger
aircraft production sharply contrasts with the declining prospects of military
contractors such as Lockheed. From a purely defense industrial base perspective
(which would unavoidably be mirrored by the Congressional friends of
disadvantaged companies, such as Lockheed), it would not be difficult to argue that
Boeing will prosper without station contracts, while other companies might perish,
absent some subvention from NASA.
Thus both policy and political considerations place Congressional support for the
international station in peril. Supporters will question whether station contractors
would rather exchange places with the unemployed refugees from the Super-Conducting Supercollider, which, absent international participation was canceled
by Congress. But contractors excluded from the station have everything to gain and
nothing to lose from its cancellation.
Much of Freedom's programmatic turbulence during the Bush Administration, with
nearly annual redesigns and rephasing, is attributable to the end of the Cold War.
Absent this larger geopolitical rationale, Freedom embarked on an ultimately
fruitless quest for a coherent program based on scientific and commercial
applications. The failure of this quest was reflected growing budget projections and
schedule delays, and in inexorably declining Congressional support.
However, Congressional exasperation with Freedom was exacerbated in the process,
as the station continued to devour money to no apparent purpose. Although the
new international space station builds on a substantial design heritage from
Freedom and Mir, there is little reason to hope that the present design fully
reflects what will actually be built. To the contrary, there is every reason to believe
that at least one more design iteration in 1994 will produce higher budget
estimates and more protracted schedules.
The budget process during 1994 promises to be especially grueling, even by recent
standards. With virtually every federal agency slated for budget reductions more
severe than those imposed on NASA, and with the fall election but months away,
station opponents will predictably redoubled their efforts. Foreseeable bad news on
station cost and schedule problems will provide ready ammunition for their
Just as space cooperation has redefined the relationship between Russia and
America, it can also help define the post-Cold War world order more generally.
Piloted space flight has often been compared, unfavorably, with pyramid-building.
But this comparison is more illuminating than critics imagine. The construction of
the Egyptian pyramids was both the expression and instrumentality of the early
unification of dynastic Egypt. Indeed, this pattern of the construction of great
symbolic monuments at the inauguration of new civilizations is a pervasive pattern
of human history, from the pyramids of Egypt and Mexico and the ziggurats of
Mesopotamia to the cathedrals of medieval Europe. Such collective undertakings
both symbolically demonstrate the unity of the new society, as well as providing a
means for concretely developing that unity.
The Russian precedent must be extended more widely. A place for other former
Soviet republics, notably Ukraine and Kazakhstan, must be found in the unified
space station program. The emerging space capabilities of China, India and other
countries, must also be engaged in cooperative projects, perhaps the human
exploration of the Moon or Mars.
As the pyramids had both symbolic and pragmatic components, so too will global
space cooperation make a concrete contribution to the demilitarization of the world
order. During the Cold War, nuclear-tipped ballistic missiles were the exemplar of
the Soviet-American military competition. This example inspired a growing host of
other countries to acquire such trappings of power. The initiative of America and
Russia to beat swords into ploughshares can transfer to mantle of power from
missiles to spaceships. Increasingly, contributions to human spaceflight, not
stockpiles of missiles, would be regarded as the indication of standing in the world
community. Following the Russian precedent, civil space cooperation could provide
incentives for reducing or eliminating de-stabilizing missile programs.
In a world increasingly defined by perceptions created by the mass media,
international space cooperation is a unique means for asserting the existence of a
global community which shares common interests and aspirations. Just as the
competition in rockets in arms race and space race defined the Cold War,
cooperation in space exploration and development may become a defining activity
of the coming millennium.