Private satellite megaconstellations will transform night sky, raising environmental and equity concerns

A small group of executives will craft the rules for space-based commerce
Western tech companies are effectively setting international space governance, mirroring how IP rules were imposed globally in the 1990s.
Mark

When you say these satellites will transform the night sky, what exactly will change for someone looking up?

Mimi

The visual difference will be dramatic. Instead of a static field of stars, you'll see dozens of bright points moving visibly across the sky throughout the night. They'll be bright enough to see without a telescope, and they'll move noticeably. Astronomers are already concerned about the interference with their observations.

Mark

But Amazon says this is about connecting the unconnected. Isn't that a genuine good?

Mimi

The intention might be genuine, but the mechanism matters. Yes, three billion people lack internet access. But when they finally get connected through Amazon's satellites, they won't just gain neutral access to information. They'll be onboarded directly into Amazon's ecosystem—shopping, streaming, data collection. It's connectivity with strings attached.

Mark

You mention environmental costs. How significant are we talking?

Mimi

Massive. You need thousands of earth stations and data centers running continuously. Even if some power comes from solar, most will be fossil fuel-based. And solar manufacturing itself has environmental costs. Then there's the cryptocurrency angle—if Amazon pushes Bitcoin for payments in the global south, you're adding the energy consumption of mining on top of everything else.

Mark

Who actually decides whether this is allowed to happen?

Mimi

That's the troubling part. A small group of Western tech executives are essentially writing the rules for space commerce, working with their governments. It's the same pattern as intellectual property rules in the 1990s—a handful of companies and countries set the framework, then enforce it globally. The global south has almost no seat at the table.

Mark

So what's the alternative? Leave three billion people without internet?

Mimi

That's the false choice being presented. The real question is: who owns and controls the infrastructure? Could it be public, or at least accountable to the communities it serves? Could the rules be written internationally, with genuine representation? Right now, we're accepting corporate control as inevitable when it's actually a choice.

  • Nearly 40,000 satellites are being rushed into orbit by a handful of Western companies chasing a projected $3 trillion space economy, fundamentally altering who owns the sky above us.
  • Three billion unconnected people in the global south are framed as a humanitarian mission, but their first click online may default to Amazon's homepage — connectivity arriving pre-loaded with commerce.
  • The energy demands of thousands of earth stations and data centers will lean heavily on fossil fuels, while cryptocurrency payment systems add a second layer of carbon cost that is quietly externalized onto the world's most vulnerable communities.
  • A small circle of Western tech executives is effectively drafting the governance rules for space-based commerce, echoing the 1990s playbook when industry lobbyists shaped global intellectual property law through the WTO.
  • What is being built is not a neutral bridge to information but a new architecture of dependency — infrastructure owned in Seattle and Silicon Valley, generating wealth that flows upward while environmental consequences settle on those least responsible.

Across the ancient canvas of the night sky, a new kind of colonization is quietly taking shape — not by nations planting flags, but by corporations launching constellations. Amazon and its peers are racing to encircle the Earth with tens of thousands of satellites, promising connectivity to three billion people who have never known the internet, while quietly building the infrastructure for a vast new commercial empire. The humanitarian language is real, but so is the market logic beneath it: those who gain access will enter ecosystems designed to extract as much as they deliver. Humanity is being connected, but the terms of that connection are being written by a very small number of hands.

Look up at the night sky in a few years and those moving points of light will not be stars — they will be satellites, thousands of them, owned by private companies racing to claim a $3 trillion space-based economy. Amazon already holds permission for 3,274 satellites and is seeking approval for 4,500 more. Astra Space Inc. wants 13,620. Together with other Western firms, the total approaches 40,000 launches within two years.

The stated mission is noble: bring broadband to the three billion people — mostly in rural Africa, Asia, and Latin America — who have never accessed the internet. Hospitals, schools, and remote households would gain connectivity that geography and poverty have long denied them. But the architecture of that connectivity matters enormously. Amazon acquired Facebook's satellite division, ensuring that new users will enter a seamlessly integrated ecosystem of e-commerce, streaming, and data collection. The unconnected are a market to be captured as much as a population to be served.

The environmental ledger is rarely opened in these conversations. Thousands of earth stations and data centers must be built and powered around the clock, with most electricity still drawn from fossil fuels. Solar alternatives carry their own manufacturing emissions. Underwater data centers, already being tested by Microsoft, will spread. And as millions of new customers from the global south enter these platforms, cryptocurrency — with its staggering energy appetite — is positioned as the frictionless payment solution, its carbon costs quietly absorbed by the atmosphere.

Perhaps most consequential is the question of governance. When the U.S. Space Force announced plans to establish international norms for responsible behavior in space alongside allied nations, what it described was a process in which Western tech executives will effectively write the rules — just as industry representatives shaped global intellectual property law through the WTO in the 1990s. The pattern is familiar; only the altitude has changed.

What is being constructed is not simply a network but a new form of dependency. Billions will gain internet access, but on terms set by corporations accountable to shareholders rather than citizens. The wealth generated will concentrate upward; the environmental costs will disperse outward, settling most heavily on those who built none of it and own none of it.

In a few years, when you look up at the night sky and see bright points of light moving across the darkness, your first instinct might be to call them stars. You would be mistaken. What you are seeing will be satellites—thousands of them, owned and operated by a handful of private companies, most notably Amazon. The night sky, that ancient constant, is being colonized by commerce.

The numbers are staggering. Companies based in the United States and United Kingdom are planning to launch nearly 40,000 satellites within the next two years, racing to capture what they project will be a $3 trillion space-based economy. Amazon alone has permission to launch 3,274 satellites and has requested approval for an additional 4,500, ostensibly to provide broadband access to households, hospitals, businesses, and government agencies in regions where reliable internet remains out of reach. Astra Space Inc. is seeking approval for 13,620 satellites, framing the mission in language about creating a healthier, more connected planet through communications services and environmental monitoring.

But beneath the rhetoric of global connectivity lies a more complex reality. The three billion people who have never accessed the internet—nearly all of them living in rural areas across Africa, Asia, and Latin America—represent not a humanitarian opportunity but a market to be captured. When these populations finally gain internet access through satellite broadband, their rooftops will bristle with dish antennas, and the digital gateways on their devices will default to Amazon's homepage. The company acquired Facebook's satellite division, ensuring that data collection will be seamless and comprehensive. These new customers will not simply gain access to information; they will be funneled into ecosystems of e-commerce, streaming services, and same-day delivery designed to extract value from them.

The infrastructure required to support this global network carries enormous environmental costs that rarely enter the conversation. Thousands of earth stations and massive data centers will need to be built and powered continuously. Some electricity will come from solar installations, but the majority will rely on fossil fuels. Even solar power carries hidden environmental burdens—whether using silicon cells or gallium arsenide, a byproduct of aluminum ore processing, the manufacturing and deployment of these systems generates significant carbon emissions. Microsoft is already experimenting with underwater data centers to reduce cooling costs and burnish its green credentials; Amazon and others will inevitably follow. The irony is sharp: a system ostensibly designed to connect the world will require energy infrastructure that accelerates climate change.

There is also the question of who writes the rules. In November 2021, the commander of the U.S. Space Force wrote that the United States intended to collaborate with allied spacefaring nations like Britain and Germany to establish international norms for responsible behavior in space, a response to demonstrated anti-satellite capabilities by Russia and China. What this means in practice is that a small group of executives from Western technology companies will effectively craft the governance framework for space-based commerce. This mirrors the pattern established in the 1990s, when representatives of the software, pharmaceutical, and entertainment industries shaped intellectual property rules that were then enforced globally through the World Trade Organization. The same dynamic is repeating itself at a higher altitude.

The question of payment systems adds another layer. As millions of new customers from the global south enter e-commerce platforms, local currencies would complicate transactions and reduce the frictionless experience that maximizes spending. Cryptocurrency offers an elegant solution—Bitcoin and similar systems eliminate the need for currency conversion and local banking infrastructure. Never mind that cryptocurrency mining consumes vast amounts of electricity and generates enormous carbon emissions. The environmental cost is externalized, absorbed by the atmosphere and the communities least responsible for creating the problem.

What emerges from this convergence of satellite launches, data centers, energy consumption, and financial systems is not a vision of universal connection but of a new form of dependency. The night sky will indeed twinkle with thousands of artificial lights, and below them, billions of people will have internet access—but on terms set by corporations accountable to shareholders, not citizens. The infrastructure of connection will be owned and controlled from Silicon Valley and Seattle, generating wealth that flows upward while environmental costs flow outward, settling heaviest on those who contributed least to the system's creation.

Amazon and other companies frame satellite broadband as serving households, hospitals, businesses, and underserved geographic areas lacking reliable internet access
— Amazon's stated mission for satellite expansion
The U.S. Space Force sought to collaborate with allied spacefaring nations to establish international norms for responsible behavior in space
— U.S. Space Force commander, November 2021
Contattaci Domande frequenti