Dwain Northey (Gen X)

We Paid for It. So Why Don’t We Control It?

There is something fundamentally backward about a government that can spend billions of taxpayer dollars developing technology, subsidizing private companies, and building the infrastructure necessary to make those companies successful, only to discover that when it actually needs that technology, a billionaire gets to decide whether it can be used.

Welcome to the American space program, where we have apparently decided that the best way to explore the final frontier is to write enormous checks to private companies and then cross our fingers that their owners remain cooperative.

Elon Musk’s SpaceX did not emerge in a vacuum. The company has benefited from billions of dollars in federal contracts, NASA partnerships, and government-funded launch and transportation programs. NASA helped create a commercial market for spaceflight by paying private companies to develop capabilities the agency needed. SpaceX brought innovation, reusable rockets, and competition into an industry that had long been dominated by expensive government programs and traditional aerospace contractors.

That deserves recognition. Musk and SpaceX have accomplished things that would have seemed extraordinary a generation ago.

But here is where the conversation gets interesting: When the government helps finance the development of strategically important technology, at what point does the public interest take precedence over the private interests of the person who owns it?

Apparently, we haven’t adequately answered that question.

We have allowed an increasingly important part of America’s space infrastructure to become intertwined with the business interests and personal decisions of one extraordinarily wealthy individual. And now we are discovering that the distinction between a private company providing a service and a private individual exercising geopolitical influence can become awfully thin.

The Billionaire With the Switch

Consider Starlink, SpaceX’s satellite internet network, and Starshield, its more security-focused satellite service developed for government and national-security customers.

These are not interchangeable systems, and their contractual arrangements differ. But both illustrate the growing importance of privately operated satellite infrastructure to American military and intelligence capabilities.

Starlink has also played a significant role in Ukraine’s communications infrastructure during Russia’s invasion. Reliable communications are not a luxury in a modern war. They can determine whether military units coordinate effectively, whether intelligence reaches the people who need it, and whether operations succeed or fail.

Reports about Musk’s decisions concerning Starlink access in Ukraine have raised serious questions about the influence a private executive can exercise over a conflict involving American strategic interests. In 2022, restrictions associated with Starlink access affected Ukrainian military operations, including a reported refusal to activate coverage for a Ukrainian operation near Crimea. Other decisions about service availability have likewise prompted debate over who should control these capabilities and under what circumstances.

Now, let’s be clear about something: Ukraine is not automatically entitled to unlimited access to every privately operated American satellite system simply because it is fighting Russia. Contracts, operational security, international law, and the risk of escalation all matter.

But that is precisely the point.

Decisions affecting a war zone should be governed by clearly defined agreements, accountable civilian leadership, and legitimate national-security considerations—not by an individual executive’s unilateral preferences.

If a decision can materially affect an ally’s ability to defend itself, it is no longer merely a customer-service dispute. It becomes a question of national policy.

And national policy is supposed to be made by a government accountable to the American people, not by a billionaire whose corporate boardroom doubles as a potential foreign-policy control room.

The Taxpayer-Funded Paradox

Here is the part that should bother us regardless of our political affiliation.

American taxpayers have helped fund NASA, the launch infrastructure, the research, the contracts, and the commercial partnerships that made today’s private space industry possible. SpaceX has also invested substantial private capital, developed its own technology, and taken considerable business risks. This is not a case of the government simply handing Musk a fully completed space program.

But the public-private partnership raises a legitimate question: What exactly did the public purchase, and what rights did the government retain in return?

A government contract is not automatically a gift of ownership. Federal funding does not mean the government owns every resulting invention, satellite, or piece of equipment. Ownership and control depend on the contracts, applicable law, intellectual-property rights, and the particular system involved.

That distinction matters.

Still, when the government pays for a service essential to national defense, it should negotiate terms that protect its ability to use that service when national security requires it. If it fails to do so, the problem is not necessarily that a private company has too much legal authority. It may be that government officials have failed to secure sufficient authority on behalf of the people paying the bill.

And if that is what happened, why should the public be comfortable with the arrangement?

We would never willingly design a military communications system in which a single private executive could unexpectedly interrupt critical operations without meaningful contractual safeguards, government oversight, or an alternative source of service.

At least, we shouldn’t.

Yet our growing dependence on commercial space technology raises exactly that concern. The more essential these systems become, the more dangerous it is to confuse a vendor with a strategic institution.