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Analysis of the major transformations of space, technological sovereignty and the new geography of global power, with a particular focus on island states and the Caribbean.
CPGNNews Editorial Board
International Edition 2026
Think the Caribbean. Understand the World.
IN BRIEF
On August 18, 2026, French European Space Agency astronaut Sophie Adenot is scheduled to conduct her first spacewalk aboard the International Space Station, alongside NASA astronaut Anil Menon. Planned to last approximately six and a half hours, the operation is intended in particular to replace a Space-to-Ground antenna designed to maintain high-bandwidth communications and data transmissions between the station and ground facilities. Yet the significance of the mission extends far beyond the historic importance of a French woman undertaking a spacewalk for the first time. The operation concerns a communications infrastructure located in orbit, but its functioning directly affects the circulation of information between space and Earth. This reality illustrates a fundamental transformation of contemporary civilization: space is no longer merely a domain of scientific exploration, technological competition or national prestige; it has become essential infrastructure for the functioning of numerous terrestrial societies.
Communications, navigation, Earth observation, meteorology, mapping, agriculture, maritime surveillance, disaster management and economic activity now depend, directly or indirectly, on systems operating beyond the atmosphere. The strategic question is therefore less about who possesses the largest number of satellites than about who controls the value chains capable of transforming orbital data into knowledge, and knowledge into decisions. This question is particularly important for small states and island regions, whose geographic and climate vulnerabilities increase the strategic value of Earth observation while simultaneously constraining their financial and industrial capacity.
From the Caribbean perspective, the challenge is not to reproduce the space programmes of the United States, China or Europe. It is to build a regional capacity capable of transforming access to global space infrastructure into scientific, institutional and strategic capability. Such an ambition could begin with strengthened cooperation in Earth observation, risk management, environmental data, scientific training and cybersecurity before expanding into more structural initiatives. Within this framework, a Haiti–Dominican Republic space project could become one of the first concrete experiments in a Caribbean space architecture founded on shared knowledge of a single island territory.
Keywords: orbital infrastructure, sovereignty, Caribbean, space, satellite data, space economy, Earth observation, artificial intelligence, security, global governance, ESA, ISS, Sophie Adenot, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Hispaniola.
On August 18, 2026, Sophie Adenot is scheduled to leave the Quest module of the International Space Station and enter the vacuum of space alongside Anil Menon. The two astronauts are expected to spend approximately six and a half hours carrying out a maintenance operation to replace a Space-to-Ground antenna installed on the station’s Z1 truss. The antenna enables high-bandwidth communications and data transmissions between the station and ground control centres. NASA has scheduled the operation as the 97th U.S. spacewalk, while the European Space Agency describes it as Sophie Adenot’s first spacewalk.
The historic significance of the mission is unquestionable. A French woman working outside an orbital station represents a major scientific, technological and human achievement. Yet the image of Sophie Adenot floating in the vacuum of space risks focusing attention on the individual accomplishment at the expense of what the very nature of her intervention reveals about the evolution of our civilization. The astronaut is not leaving the station to explore an unknown territory, plant a flag or stage another demonstration of national prestige. She is going outside to maintain a communications infrastructure. That distinction is fundamental because it marks the gradual transition from an era in which space was primarily understood as a frontier to be conquered to an era in which space is becoming infrastructure that must be maintained, exploited, protected and governed.
This transformation remains insufficiently reflected in the way we think about power. Space continues to be presented through major lunar missions, human spaceflight programmes, launch vehicles and ambitions to reach Mars. These dimensions remain essential and will continue to shape scientific and geopolitical competition. Yet an increasing share of space’s strategic value now lies in activities that are far less spectacular. Satellites transmit data, observe territories, monitor oceans, contribute to weather forecasting, enable navigation and support a multitude of economic services. According to the European Space Agency, the downstream space economy was worth approximately €490 billion in 2025 and included satellite communications, Earth observation and services associated with global navigation satellite systems. GNSS services alone accounted for 77 percent of the downstream market.
Space has thus become an invisible infrastructure of life on Earth. Its invisibility is precisely one of its defining paradoxes. Much of the population does not know which satellites contribute to a weather forecast, geographical positioning or the transmission of data. It does not see the receiving stations, computing centres or telecommunications networks that transform orbital signals into usable information. Nor does it see the engineers, scientists, software systems and artificial intelligence technologies that give operational value to data generated above the Earth. Yet when these infrastructures function properly, they have become so deeply integrated into everyday life that they are almost taken for granted.
It is precisely this invisibility that makes the question of sovereignty particularly important. Contemporary sovereignty can no longer be defined exclusively by possession of terrestrial territory, control of borders or military capacity. It also involves the ability to understand the infrastructures on which a territory’s functioning depends, secure access to essential data, verify their quality, protect the systems that process them and participate in the international rules governing their use. A country may therefore enjoy remarkable access to space-based services while remaining structurally dependent on decisions made elsewhere. Access is a resource; it is not necessarily sovereignty.
This distinction is particularly important for the Caribbean. The region lies within a geographic environment in which extreme weather events, coastal risks, sea-level rise, ecosystem transformations and natural disasters are making Earth observation an increasingly important component of collective security. The programmes of the World Meteorological Organization dedicated to strengthening multi-hazard forecasting and warning services across the Caribbean already illustrate the growing integration of observation technologies and data into resilience policies.
The question raised by Sophie Adenot’s spacewalk is therefore far broader than that of French representation in space. It concerns the place of terrestrial societies in a civilization whose essential infrastructure increasingly extends into orbit. It also concerns the ability of small states to participate in this new geography of power without attempting to reproduce the industrial models of the great powers. From the Caribbean perspective, the central challenge is not to ask how to build an immediate space programme comparable to those of the United States or China. It is to determine which scientific, technological, institutional and diplomatic capabilities the region must master if it is not to become merely a user of infrastructure on which it is increasingly dependent.
FROM THE CONQUEST OF SPACE TO ORBITAL INFRASTRUCTURE
The history of space during the twentieth century was dominated by a conception of power based on the ability to cross a physical frontier. The first rockets, satellites, crewed flights and lunar missions became successive demonstrations of the industrial, scientific and military capabilities of the states that made them possible. The rivalry between the United States and the Soviet Union gave space an exceptional geopolitical dimension. Space exploration was closely associated with demonstrations of technological superiority, ideological competition and a state’s capacity to mobilize enormous public resources around a national objective.
That conception has not disappeared, but it is no longer sufficient to explain the structure of today’s space economy. Sectoral growth increasingly depends on commercial applications and services that rely on orbital infrastructure. The European Space Agency estimates that the downstream space market, valued at approximately €490 billion in 2025, is largely commercial and includes satellite communications, Earth observation and global navigation systems, among other activities. The same analysis underscores the extent to which satellite data, signals and services are now deeply embedded in the digital economy.
This transformation is changing the nature of space-based value. For decades, the essential question was who could build and launch a satellite. Today, it is equally necessary to ask who can exploit the data generated by that satellite, who can process them at scale, who can develop the models required to interpret them, who can transform that information into services, and who can integrate those services into public policy and economic activity. The space value chain has therefore expanded considerably. It begins with the design and manufacture of equipment, continues through launch and orbital operations, and extends on the ground to data reception, storage, processing, analysis and distribution.
The strategic consequence is considerable. Space power no longer resides exclusively in the rocket or the satellite. It also resides in ground infrastructure, human expertise and digital systems capable of transforming an observation into a decision. This reality makes space power far more difficult to measure. A state may lack an autonomous launch capability while possessing substantial expertise in Earth observation, geospatial science or satellite data analysis. Conversely, a state may have access to vast quantities of data and still lack the capacity to transform them into strategic knowledge without relying on external actors.
Sophie Adenot’s scheduled spacewalk offers an almost perfect illustration of this transformation. Her work outside the ISS involves an antenna whose function is directly connected to the movement of data. NASA specifies that the equipment is intended to maintain high-rate data transmissions and communications between the station and ground control centers. The space mission therefore becomes, in itself, a maintenance operation on a data infrastructure.
This evolution reveals a deeper truth: space has become embedded in the material foundations of digital civilization. Satellites are no longer merely scientific instruments observing Earth from beyond the atmosphere. They have become components of a much broader terrestrial system. Communications, positioning systems, environmental observation and numerous economic services now depend on this architecture. The boundary between space and Earth is consequently becoming less relevant when it comes to understanding contemporary strategic infrastructure.
EARTH ORBIT AS CRITICAL INFRASTRUCTURE
The growing dependence on orbital infrastructure is accompanied by a paradox. The more indispensable satellites become, the more invisible their operation tends to be. This invisibility can create the illusion that the services they provide are natural, permanent and independent of human decisions. Yet every satellite signal depends on a material, legal, financial and institutional infrastructure. Satellites must be built, launched, controlled and replaced. Frequencies must be coordinated. Orbits must be monitored. Data must be transmitted and stored. Ground infrastructure must be protected against failures, accidents and cyber threats.
The growing number of objects in orbit makes this infrastructure both more powerful and more vulnerable. European Space Agency statistics, updated as of July 31, 2026, indicate that approximately 27,490 satellites have been placed into orbit since the beginning of the space age, that around 18,840 remain in space, and that approximately 16,100 are still operational. Space surveillance networks are tracking roughly 46,110 objects. The ESA also estimates that the population of debris larger than one centimeter numbers in the hundreds of thousands and potentially exceeds one million, depending on the categories and models used.
These figures do not merely describe an engineering problem. They reveal the emergence of a new question of global governance. Earth orbit is a finite physical environment whose increasingly intensive use can generate collective risks. The ESA warns that certain orbital regions are becoming increasingly congested and that the growth of space debris poses a threat to the long-term sustainability of space activities. The question is therefore no longer simply how many satellites can be launched, but how to preserve an orbital environment sufficiently safe to sustain the services upon which terrestrial society increasingly depends.
This situation also transforms the concept of critical infrastructure. Traditionally, critical infrastructure was understood as a facility located within national territory, such as a power plant, telecommunications network, port, airport or water-supply system. Satellites introduce a form of critical infrastructure that may be physically located outside national territory while remaining indispensable to the functioning of that territory. This characteristic considerably complicates traditional notions of security. A state may protect its territory and terrestrial installations while remaining vulnerable to the failure of an orbital system located thousands of kilometres away.
The issue is particularly sensitive for small island states. Their dependence on external infrastructure is often structurally greater than that of large continental powers. Their economic scale limits their ability to duplicate certain infrastructure. Their exposure to disasters increases the strategic value of early-warning systems. Their geographic dispersion makes communications particularly important. In this context, space infrastructure can become a multiplier of resilience, but it can also become a multiplier of dependency.
The difference between these two conditions depends largely on institutional capacity to understand the system. A country that knows the providers on which it depends, the data it uses, the critical infrastructure supporting those services, the alternatives available and the legal conditions governing access already possesses a certain form of sovereignty. A country that uses the same services without understanding the chains on which they depend remains considerably more vulnerable, even when everyday access appears fully secure.
THE PARADOX OF ACCESS AND SOVEREIGNTY
The assumption that access to a technology is equivalent to mastery of that technology is one of the great illusions of the digital economy. In many fields, users can benefit from extraordinarily advanced technologies without possessing the expertise required to understand how they work or the means to replace them. This is particularly evident in the space sector. A state may receive very high-resolution satellite imagery, use global navigation services and benefit from sophisticated meteorological data without owning the satellites that generate that information.
Access is, of course, valuable. Open data from international scientific programmes, commercial services and cooperation mechanisms have profoundly democratized the use of space technologies. Countries that could never have financed their own satellites can now access data of considerable scientific and operational value. This development represents a historic opportunity for the Global South and for small states. But it does not eliminate the technological hierarchy. In some cases, it may even make that hierarchy less visible.
The fundamental issue is the value chain. When a satellite image reaches a Caribbean administration, a substantial portion of its scientific value has already been generated by infrastructure located elsewhere. The satellite was designed and manufactured by foreign companies. The launch was carried out by an operator with specialized capabilities. Data reception may be organized through an international network. Processing software may belong to external companies. Artificial-intelligence models may have been developed on other continents. The local administration therefore receives an extraordinarily useful product, but controls only a limited portion of the chain that made its production possible.
This situation is not necessarily a weakness in itself. No country can independently produce every technology on which it depends. The problem emerges when dependency affects critical functions for which no local or regional alternative exists. A genuine sovereignty strategy must therefore distinguish between ordinary dependencies and critical dependencies. The objective is not technological autarky, which would be unrealistic in a globalized economy, but to develop sufficient domestic and regional capabilities to prevent an external disruption from becoming a national or regional crisis.
The concept of informational sovereignty becomes particularly useful here. It does not mean that a state must own all data relating to its territory or prevent their circulation. It means that it must be capable of understanding the data essential to its development, verifying their quality, integrating them into its own body of knowledge and determining how they should be used according to its priorities. Informational sovereignty therefore depends less on physical ownership of information than on the capacity to give that information meaning and use it autonomously.
This distinction becomes even more important with artificial intelligence. Satellite data are now generated at a speed and volume that make direct human exploitation impossible at scale. Machine-learning systems can identify territorial changes, classify imagery, detect anomalies and generate forecasts. These technologies could profoundly transform the management of Caribbean territories. Yet they can also create a new form of dependency if the models, computing infrastructure and interpretation systems remain entirely outside the region.
Data can therefore be open while their interpretation remains dependent. The real question is no longer simply whether data are available. It is who possesses the expertise required to understand them, place them in context, challenge them when necessary, and transform them into decisions adapted to local realities.
THE CARIBBEAN AND THE NEW GEOGRAPHY OF SPACE
The Caribbean possesses a characteristic that should compel it to take this question particularly seriously: its geography directly transforms environmental phenomena into matters of national and regional security. In a region where populations and infrastructure are often concentrated along narrow coastal areas, changes in sea level, major storms, flooding, or ecosystem degradation can produce disproportionate consequences. Environmental monitoring is therefore not merely a scientific activity. It directly contributes to governments’ ability to anticipate risks, organize emergency responses, and plan development.
Satellites already play a significant role in this architecture of knowledge. Modern meteorology relies heavily on space-based observation. Hurricane forecasting systems use observations from geostationary and low-Earth-orbit satellites, complemented by terrestrial, maritime, and airborne data. These systems make it possible to track the evolution of a phenomenon before its most significant effects reach a given territory. International initiatives devoted to multi-hazard forecasting and early-warning services in the Caribbean already demonstrate the growing importance assigned to these observation and monitoring capabilities.
But meteorological information represents only one dimension of the challenge. Satellite observation can also contribute to mapping flood-prone areas, monitoring coastal erosion, assessing forest cover, analysing land use, supporting agriculture, and managing marine resources. It can help measure changes along coastlines and identify vulnerabilities before they become clearly visible at the human scale. For a region whose economic development depends heavily on coastal and maritime spaces, this capability has considerable strategic value.
The question therefore becomes institutional. The Caribbean possesses substantial scientific and administrative expertise, but these capabilities are distributed among multiple states, universities, meteorological agencies, regional organizations, and international partners. Such fragmentation can limit the ability to transform available data into a coherent regional knowledge infrastructure. A collective approach could make it possible to pool certain resources, harmonize data, develop joint training programmes, and strengthen analytical capabilities.
Such cooperation would be particularly relevant in the field of ocean observation. The Caribbean is a strategically important maritime space whose resources, ecosystems, and commercial routes are directly exposed to climate and economic transformations. A regional capacity for observation and analysis could contribute to fisheries management, environmental monitoring, reef protection, the study of ocean currents, and a better understanding of coastal change. In this domain, Caribbean geography would no longer constitute merely a source of vulnerability. It could become a source of regional expertise.
DATA IS NOT YET KNOWLEDGE
One of the most common errors in technology policy is to treat the accumulation of data as a guarantee of knowledge. In the space sector, this misconception can be particularly costly. Satellites can produce extraordinarily precise imagery, but an image is not a decision. A digital model may identify an area facing a high level of risk, but it cannot, by itself, determine how a community should be protected, which infrastructure should be reinforced first, or which social constraints must be taken into account.
Transforming data into knowledge requires context. Observation systems must be combined with local data, geographic knowledge, demographic and economic information, and the lived experience of communities. This is where national and regional institutions become indispensable. Technology developed elsewhere may provide extraordinarily sophisticated information, but it does not automatically understand the social structure of a territory, the constraints facing its administrations, or the everyday practices of its populations.
Artificial intelligence could amplify this challenge. Automated systems are increasingly capable of analysing vast quantities of data, but their effectiveness depends on the quality of their training data, the models employed, and the criteria established by their designers. A model developed primarily from continental territories may not accurately reproduce the particular characteristics of small island states. An algorithmic solution designed for a large metropolitan area may be poorly suited to a Caribbean city characterized by different topography, informal urbanization, fragile infrastructure, and incomplete statistical data.
Technological sovereignty therefore also requires the capacity to challenge technology. Researchers and public institutions must be able to question models, identify their limitations, and independently verify their results. Dependence becomes dangerous when users no longer possess the expertise required to challenge the systems on which they rely. From this perspective, scientific education is not a secondary component of space policy. It is one of its foundations.
This approach requires a reassessment of the traditional hierarchy of investment. For a small state, purchasing a visible piece of equipment may be politically more impressive than training a scientific team or establishing a data centre. Yet the latter may generate considerably greater sovereignty over the long term. The fundamental question is therefore not which infrastructure can be inaugurated most rapidly, but which institutional capacity will still be operational when the first technological cycle has come to an end.
SOPHIE ADENOT AND THE QUESTION OF HUMAN CAPITAL
The trajectory of Sophie Adenot provides a human dimension through which this question can be examined. Her career, from aerospace engineer to test pilot and eventually astronaut, is never the product of individual talent alone. It requires an educational system capable of producing advanced scientific skills, institutions capable of identifying and developing those skills, organizations able to provide meaningful professional opportunities, and an industrial environment in which such expertise can be applied.
This dimension is particularly important for countries seeking to develop space capabilities without possessing the financial resources of major powers. The most difficult asset to reproduce rapidly is not necessarily equipment. It is human capital. A satellite can be purchased. Infrastructure can be developed with international partners. Data can sometimes be obtained freely or through cooperative programmes. But a community of researchers, engineers, and specialists capable of understanding complex systems, assessing their limitations, and developing new applications requires years of sustained education and institutional investment.
The role of women in science and technology is part of this broader equation. The presence of a French woman outside the ISS is undoubtedly an important symbolic milestone. Yet the deeper significance of such representation emerges when it is connected to the entire educational system. A society does not build lasting scientific capacity by celebrating a handful of exceptional trajectories. It builds that capacity when an entire generation of young people can regard mathematics, physics, engineering, computer science, geomatics, and space sciences as fields within their reach.
For the Caribbean, this question is particularly significant. The region has long faced the fragmentation of its university systems and the migration of highly skilled professionals. A regional space policy could provide a particularly valuable area of cooperation for retaining and developing talent. Joint university programmes, regional laboratories, nanosatellite projects, data-processing centres, and research programmes focused on climate and environmental change could create professional pathways directly connected to the needs of the region.
The true success of a Caribbean space policy would therefore not necessarily be the photograph of a Caribbean astronaut in orbit. It could be something far less spectacular and far more consequential: hundreds of engineers capable of analysing satellite data, researchers able to develop climate models adapted to island environments, specialists capable of securing digital infrastructure, and public administrations able to transform scientific knowledge into effective policy. It is through this accumulation of capabilities that durable sovereignty is built.
SPACE AS A NEW THEATRE OF POWER
The transformation of the space economy is accompanied by a broader geopolitical shift. The United States, China, Europe, Russia, India, Japan, and several emerging powers are seeking to strengthen their space capabilities, while private companies are assuming an increasingly important role in communications, launch services, Earth observation, and data-driven applications. The space economy is therefore becoming a domain in which public power, industrial power, and digital power increasingly converge.
This transformation is also reshaping the meaning of strategic autonomy. Europe offers an instructive example. It has developed major programmes in navigation, Earth observation, and telecommunications, while simultaneously seeking to strengthen its industrial base and guarantee reliable access to orbit. The European Space Agency’s 2026 analysis estimates the global upstream market for space-system manufacturing and launch services at approximately €75 billion in 2025, while highlighting the growing importance of institutional and defence investment.
This situation recalls a fundamental principle of strategic infrastructure: a capability is truly autonomous only when it possesses a sufficiently complete chain to remain sustainable over time. Dependence on an external provider is not necessarily problematic when multiple alternatives exist. It becomes considerably more sensitive when a single company, power, or technological system controls an essential function.
The private sector introduces another dimension. Commercial constellations have dramatically expanded the availability of certain services and can reduce the cost of accessing space-based technologies. Yet they also create infrastructures whose importance may extend far beyond their original commercial purpose. When a private network becomes essential to the communications of a population or to certain governmental functions, its governance becomes a strategic issue. The development of the space economy therefore requires parallel reflection on regulation, competition, resilience, and accountability.
The problem of orbital debris reinforces this imperative. Space is a shared environment in which the consequences of a decision taken by one operator can affect actors who have no relationship with that operator. Orbital fragmentation does not respect national borders. A collision can generate thousands of fragments capable of damaging or destroying other satellites. Space governance therefore has an inherently collective dimension that extends beyond the individual interests of states and corporations.
A SOVEREIGNTY NO LONGER MEASURED SOLELY BY TERRITORY
International law provides an essential framework for understanding this transformation. The 1967 Outer Space Treaty establishes, among other principles, that outer space, including the Moon and other celestial bodies, is not subject to national appropriation by claims of sovereignty, occupation, or any other means. This rule fundamentally distinguishes outer space from terrestrial territory. A state cannot simply declare a portion of an orbital environment to be its own.
Yet the absence of territorial appropriation does not mean the absence of power. States and corporations can operate space infrastructure, control technologies, provide services, and influence the norms that govern the use of outer space. Traditional territorial sovereignty therefore cannot be applied to space in the same way it is applied on Earth, but forms of technological, economic, industrial, and regulatory power can nevertheless be exercised there.
This distinction is particularly important for small states. Their influence does not depend exclusively on military or economic capabilities. It can also depend on their ability to participate in international negotiations, develop legal and scientific expertise, and build coalitions. Space diplomacy could therefore become a new dimension of small island states’ international diplomacy.
The Caribbean already possesses substantial experience in collective diplomacy on climate, trade, and development. That experience could be extended to space governance. The interests of small states do not necessarily coincide with those of major powers, particularly regarding climate monitoring, access to data, meteorological services, orbital sustainability, and the costs associated with the use of space technologies. Coordinated representation could therefore give the region greater negotiating capacity than that available to individual states acting alone.
Space sovereignty should therefore not be conceived as a mechanical extension of territorial sovereignty. It should instead be understood as the capacity to participate in a global infrastructure system without losing the ability to understand, verify, and defend one’s interests. This conception directly reflects the principle of managed interdependence: no state can be completely autonomous, but every state can seek to avoid dependencies that undermine its capacity to make decisions.
TOWARD A CARIBBEAN SPACE STRATEGY
A Caribbean space strategy should begin with a precise mapping of dependencies. Before building new infrastructure, governments should identify the orbital data and services essential to critical sectors, the providers on which they depend, the associated ground infrastructure, the alternatives available, and the risks arising from potential disruption. Such a mapping would make it possible to distinguish areas in which external dependence is acceptable from those in which a minimum regional capability is necessary.
The second priority should be education and training. The region would benefit from creating specialized academic and professional pathways in remote sensing, Earth observation, geospatial science, satellite meteorology, data science, artificial intelligence applied to climate analysis, and space law. Training could be organized at the regional level in order to avoid unnecessary duplication of investment and create a critical mass of expertise. Caribbean universities could also develop partnerships with international space agencies while retaining the capacity to define their own scientific priorities.
The third priority should be the creation of a regional data infrastructure. Such an infrastructure would not necessarily require a Caribbean satellite at the outset. It could begin with a platform designed to collect, harmonize, and analyze data already available from international systems. The objective would be to build a Caribbean capacity for knowledge rather than merely a Caribbean capacity for access.
The fourth priority would concern applications. Investment should focus on areas in which social value is immediately identifiable: disaster prevention, ocean observation, water-resource management, agriculture, urban mapping, coastal monitoring, environmental protection, and climate change. This approach would demonstrate that space policy is not a policy of prestige, but a policy of development.
The fifth priority should be cybersecurity. A regional data infrastructure could not be considered strategic without protecting its networks, storage systems, application programming interfaces, and processing infrastructure. Resilience should be built into the system from the outset, with mechanisms for redundancy, backup, and continuity of service.
The sixth priority should be diplomatic. The region should strengthen its presence in international discussions concerning the sustainability of space activities, debris management, data access, frequency allocation, technical standards, and operator responsibility. The ability to participate in defining the rules constitutes a component of sovereignty every bit as important as technical capability.
HAITI–DOMINICAN REPUBLIC: TOWARD A SPACE PROJECT FOR HISPANIOLA?
Within this Caribbean architecture, the shared territory of Haiti and the Dominican Republic offers a particularly compelling opportunity. The two states occupy the same island, share a land border, and face several environmental risks that do not stop at administrative boundaries. Watersheds, ecosystems, weather systems, coastal zones, flood risks, erosion, and certain agricultural dynamics require a territorial understanding that necessarily extends beyond national borders.
This reality could justify the emergence of a Haiti–Dominican Republic space project, conceived not as a technological competition between the two countries, but as a shared infrastructure for knowledge and resilience. Such an initiative could begin with the pooling of selected Earth-observation data, the creation of common risk-mapping protocols, the development of joint data-processing capabilities, and the training of specialists capable of addressing issues specific to Hispaniola. It could gradually expand into common applications in disaster prevention, environmental monitoring, agriculture, water resources, and coastal observation.
The value of such a project would lie precisely in its realism. There would be no need to begin with a costly space program or an immediate attempt to launch a binational satellite. The two countries could first exploit data that are already available, strengthen their scientific capacities, and create shared processing infrastructure. This approach would make it possible to assess the economic and institutional value of space cooperation before considering larger investments.
Over the medium term, a Haiti–Dominican Republic partnership could also pave the way for nanosatellite or small-satellite programs dedicated to specific needs of the island. Such a development would only be relevant if it emerged from a clearly defined scientific strategy. The satellite should never be the starting point of the policy. It should be the consequence of an identified need, an available human-capital base, and an institutional model capable of ensuring sustained operation over time.
The strategic value of a binational space project would, moreover, extend far beyond technology. It could contribute to creating a new sphere of scientific cooperation within a bilateral relationship often dominated by migration, trade, security, and border issues. Shared knowledge of the territory could become an additional instrument of dialogue. Satellite data would obviously not replace politics, but they could provide a common scientific foundation for understanding phenomena that affect both societies.
Such a project could also serve as the first building block of a broader Caribbean space architecture. Hispaniola could become a regional laboratory for cooperation in Earth observation before progressively incorporating other Caribbean states and institutions. The logic would then be one of successive circles of integration: bilateral cooperation, regional pooling of resources, and ultimately integration into international networks.
HUMAN CAPITAL AS THE TRUE INFRASTRUCTURE
The space question ultimately reveals a truth that extends far beyond outer space itself: no technological infrastructure can generate lasting sovereignty without human capital. Satellites can provide extraordinary information, but their value depends on those who know how to interpret it. Software can automate certain forms of analysis, but its relevance depends on those who understand the limitations of the models. Artificial intelligence systems can process enormous volumes of data, but their outputs must be evaluated by specialists capable of understanding their assumptions, uncertainties, and conditions of validity.
This reality should lead Caribbean states to regard scientific education as strategic infrastructure. Laboratories, universities, research programs, and scientific networks should receive the same level of strategic attention as certain physical infrastructures. In a knowledge-based economy, a society that loses its scientific capabilities becomes dependent even when it possesses modern equipment.
Sophie Adenot’s trajectory is particularly revealing because it demonstrates the depth of this chain. The astronaut represents the most visible link in a system that begins much earlier, with schools, universities, laboratories, engineering programs, and research institutions. These invisible infrastructures are what ultimately make possible the achievement that the public sees in images transmitted from space.
The Caribbean could draw an essential lesson from this trajectory. The objective should not simply be to produce a handful of individuals capable of joining international programs, but to build an environment in which scientific expertise can be developed, retained, and applied locally. A region that possesses specialists capable of understanding space systems, data, and artificial intelligence already possesses part of the infrastructure required for its future sovereignty.
From this perspective, a Haiti–Dominican Republic space project could also become a university and scientific project. Joint training programs, specialized laboratories, researcher exchanges, and shared data platforms could constitute the first infrastructures of a partnership designed to extend beyond technology alone. The deeper ambition would be to create a scientific community capable of thinking of Hispaniola as a shared research space, without erasing national sovereignty but recognizing that certain forms of fundamental knowledge can be produced most effectively only at the scale of the geographic territory the two societies share.
THE CPGNNews PERSPECTIVE
Sophie Adenot’s spacewalk is a historic event, but its true significance extends far beyond national symbolism and the question of gender representation. It reveals a deeper transformation in humanity’s relationship with outer space: we have entered an era in which human beings must maintain, repair and protect infrastructure located beyond the planet in order to sustain systems that directly serve life on Earth. The antenna that Sophie Adenot and Anil Menon are scheduled to replace is therefore not merely a component of the International Space Station. It is part of a global data circulation architecture that increasingly connects outer space with human societies. What takes place above our heads is thus becoming ever more directly connected to what is decided, produced and protected on our territories.
From the Caribbean, this transformation deserves particular attention. Island societies are among those most dependent on precise knowledge of their environment, while generally possessing limited resources with which to develop their own scientific and technological infrastructures. This contradiction creates a new strategic reality: access to international space data and services can provide a powerful accelerator of development and resilience, but it can also become a source of structural dependency when states lack the capabilities required to process, interpret, verify and independently exploit the information on which they increasingly rely. The real challenge, therefore, is not to choose between international openness and technological autonomy, but to build sufficient regional capacity to ensure that interdependence remains a strategic choice rather than becoming dependency without alternatives.
It is within this framework that the potential of a Haiti–Dominican Republic space project deserves serious consideration. Its true significance would not lie in the symbolism of a satellite carrying two national identities, but in the possibility of creating a shared scientific infrastructure serving two societies that occupy the same island. Climate, hydrological, environmental and coastal risks do not stop at political borders. Watersheds, coastlines, ecosystems, weather systems and numerous territorial dynamics concern Hispaniola as a whole. In this context, knowledge itself must be capable of transcending borders when the objective is to protect populations, anticipate disasters and plan the island’s future sustainably. Such an initiative could progressively bring together Earth observation, mapping, coastal monitoring, natural-resource management, agriculture, disaster prevention, meteorology, climate research and the development of artificial-intelligence tools adapted to the realities of Hispaniola.
This perspective would also allow Haiti to be repositioned within the regional space debate. The country should not be viewed solely as a vulnerable territory in need of technological assistance, but as a potential partner in a regional knowledge architecture, provided that it strengthens its universities, research centers, engineers, geospatial specialists, scientists and public institutions. The Dominican Republic, for its part, possesses scientific, institutional and technological capabilities that could help accelerate such cooperation. The relationship between the two countries could therefore acquire a new dimension: scientific and technological cooperation grounded in shared knowledge of the same geographical, environmental and climatic space. The space project would not necessarily begin with the launch of a satellite, but with the creation of joint teams, university programs, data centers, laboratories and national capabilities capable of transforming information received from orbit into decisions that serve communities on the ground.
This approach could become a model for a broader Caribbean space strategy. The region should not measure its ambition by the ability of its states to reproduce the programs of the major powers. Such a comparison would be both economically unrealistic and intellectually reductive. The strategic question is instead to identify the areas in which Caribbean societies possess sufficiently convergent interests to justify collective capabilities. Oceans, hurricanes, climate, coastal risks, agriculture, mapping, disaster management, environmental monitoring and territorial observation are precisely such areas. In each of them, space infrastructure can generate directly measurable value for populations, public administrations and regional economies.
The strategic choice facing the Caribbean therefore does not lie between isolation and dependency. It lies between passive dependency and managed interdependence. The former assumes that technologies, data and models arrive from outside and that local societies merely consume them. The latter requires states to develop sufficient expertise, infrastructure and institutional capacity to participate in the design, interpretation, security and governance of the systems on which they depend. This distinction could become one of the defining development questions of the coming decade. The digital divide may increasingly be accompanied by a space divide and, subsequently, by an algorithmic divide. Societies capable of accessing satellites, data, computing capacity and, above all, the expertise required to interpret them will be able to produce strategic knowledge about their own environment; those without such capabilities will remain dependent on analyses produced elsewhere.
Caribbean space sovereignty should therefore be understood as sovereignty through capabilities. It should not seek to reproduce the material power of the major nations, but to build sufficient autonomy in areas where external dependency could compromise security, development or decision-making capacity. Owning a satellite is therefore not necessarily the first objective. The ability to define the data that are actually needed, obtain them reliably, process them locally, develop models adapted to regional realities, verify their results and integrate that knowledge into public policy can produce a far more substantive form of sovereignty. True autonomy is not always the autonomy of those who own the entire system; it can also belong to those who control enough essential functions to preserve meaningful choices when external conditions change.
The true potential of a Haiti–Dominican Republic space project lies precisely in this conception. It could transform a shared geographical vulnerability into a shared scientific capability and then integrate that capability into a broader Caribbean architecture. For Hispaniola and for the region as a whole, the objective would therefore not be to reproduce the space power of major actors, but to make space an instrument of knowledge, resilience and decision-making capacity. This may be the most relevant form of space power available to small states: not to possess more than others, but to understand enough to avoid simply bearing the consequences of decisions made elsewhere.
BEYOND ORBIT
Ultimately, Sophie Adenot’s spacewalk, scheduled for August 18, 2026, will be observed as an important milestone in French and European space history. If the operation proceeds as planned, the astronaut will become the first French woman to conduct a spacewalk, alongside NASA astronaut Anil Menon, as part of an operation that will include replacing a Space-to-Ground antenna responsible for maintaining high-speed communications and data transmissions between the International Space Station and ground facilities. The human and historic significance of the event naturally deserves recognition.
Yet the image of two human beings working in the vacuum of space should not be interpreted solely as another victory for exploration. It also represents the emergence of a new era in which outer space has become an infrastructure of terrestrial life. Satellites now support communications, navigation, meteorology, environmental observation, mapping, maritime monitoring and a growing share of the digital economy. The European Space Agency’s estimate of an approximately €490 billion downstream space market in 2025 illustrates the economic scale reached by this transformation. Space is therefore no longer simply a destination toward which human societies project themselves; it has become an environment on which they increasingly depend every day.
This dependency contains a profound paradox. The more essential orbital infrastructure becomes, the more invisible it remains to most users. Much of the public does not know which infrastructures make possible a weather forecast, geographic positioning or data transmission. They do not see the satellites, receiving stations, computing centers or software systems that transform orbital signals into usable information. This invisibility can create the impression that such services are permanent and naturally available. They are not. They depend on complex technological, industrial, financial, legal and institutional chains whose mastery has become a component of contemporary power.
This infrastructure is also vulnerable. The rapid growth in the number of satellites and orbital objects increases the risks of collision, fragmentation and service disruption. ESA data available at the end of July 2026 indicate that approximately 18,840 satellites remain in space, of which roughly 16,100 are functional, while tracking networks monitor more than 46,000 objects. These figures demonstrate a major change in scale. Earth orbit has become a densely used environment whose sustainability can no longer be regarded as merely a technical matter. It has become an issue of global governance, collective security and the continuity of essential infrastructure.
This transformation also requires a new understanding of sovereignty. Access to satellite data does not necessarily mean control over the infrastructure that produces it. The availability of an image does not guarantee mastery of its interpretation. Using an artificial-intelligence system does not necessarily mean that the user understands its models, biases, assumptions or limitations. Genuine technological sovereignty therefore lies less in the isolated ownership of a particular piece of equipment than in the ability to understand the systems on which a society depends, verify their outputs, maintain alternatives and participate in the rules governing their use.
For the Caribbean, this question has an especially concrete dimension. A region exposed to hurricanes, flooding, coastal erosion, sea-level rise and rapidly changing ecosystems cannot regard satellite data as a distant technology. They already constitute an instrument of resilience. The challenge now is to move one step further: from a logic of utilization to a logic of capability. This means developing regional expertise in Earth observation, data processing, artificial intelligence, meteorology, oceanography, geospatial science and space law; strengthening universities and research centers; pooling selected infrastructures; protecting digital systems; and participating more actively in the international discussions that shape the rules governing outer space.
Within this architecture, Haiti and the Dominican Republic could become a particularly significant laboratory. Their shared island geography creates common needs in territorial observation, environmental monitoring, risk management and resource assessment. A Haiti–Dominican Republic space project should therefore not be conceived as a technological symbol designed merely to display national modernity. It should be understood as a shared infrastructure of knowledge and resilience, capable of strengthening the scientific capacities of both countries while contributing progressively to a Caribbean space architecture. The first stage could involve pooling data and expertise; the second, creating joint processing, research and training capabilities; and the third, over the longer term and provided that the scientific, financial and institutional conditions are met, developing space technologies adapted to Hispaniola’s specific needs.
Such an approach would fundamentally shift the debate. The question would no longer be which country owns the largest number of technological assets, but what scientific, technological and institutional capacity each society can contribute to a shared architecture. In a world in which power increasingly depends on the mastery of data, this approach could generate a much more substantive form of sovereignty than simple technological acquisition. It could also transform a bilateral relationship often dominated by migration, trade, security and border issues into an additional space for scientific cooperation grounded in a geographical reality the two countries share.
The deepest lesson of Sophie Adenot’s trajectory may lie precisely here. A society does not become technologically powerful because it possesses a few prestigious pieces of equipment. It becomes powerful when it has institutions capable of producing knowledge, developing expertise, maintaining infrastructure, evaluating technologies and transforming innovation into collective capability. The astronaut visible in space is the final product of a much larger system that begins in schools, continues through universities and laboratories and finds practical expression in scientific, industrial and public institutions. A society’s true space heritage therefore consists not only of its satellites or launch vehicles, but also of the women and men capable of understanding, maintaining and advancing those systems.
Humanity has therefore entered a new stage in its space history. We no longer merely go into space; we increasingly depend on what is there. That dependency is transforming Earth orbit into a dimension of security, economics, the environment, knowledge and sovereignty. Societies that understand this transformation will be able to use space as an infrastructure for resilience and development. Those that fail to develop the necessary capabilities, by contrast, risk becoming permanently dependent on technological, commercial and political decisions made elsewhere.
For the Caribbean, the question is therefore not whether it can become a major space power. The question is whether it can become a region capable of understanding, using, protecting and intelligently governing the orbital infrastructure on which an increasing share of its future depends. This ambition is realistic because it does not require the reproduction of the models developed by major powers. It requires the patient construction of capabilities adapted to the region’s geography, vulnerabilities and interests.
On August 18, 2026, Sophie Adenot is scheduled to leave the International Space Station to contribute to the maintenance of a communications infrastructure. At the same time, in a far less spectacular but historically no less important way, terrestrial societies are confronting a question that no longer belongs only to astronauts: how can they build their place in a world in which part of their ability to communicate, observe, forecast, protect and decide increasingly depends on infrastructure located above their heads? The answer will determine less our ability to reach the stars than our ability to preserve our freedom of decision on Earth.
Space is therefore no longer merely a frontier to be crossed. It has become an infrastructure to understand, a resource to protect and a form of power to govern.
DOCUMENTARY REFERENCES
- European Space Agency, Space Economy Report 2026. The report published in 2026 estimates the downstream space economy at approximately €490 billion in 2025 and highlights the growing integration of satellite communications, Earth observation and GNSS systems into the digital economy.
- European Space Agency, Space Environment Statistics. Data updated as of July 31, 2026, indicate approximately 27,490 satellites placed into orbit since the beginning of the Space Age, approximately 18,840 still present in space, approximately 16,100 operational, and approximately 46,110 objects regularly tracked by space-surveillance networks.
- NASA, NASA, ESA Astronauts Ready for Tuesday’s Antenna Swap Spacewalk, August 17, 2026. NASA confirms the participation of Anil Menon and Sophie Adenot in the August 18, 2026, spacewalk and the replacement of a Space-to-Ground antenna intended to maintain high-speed communications and data transmissions between the station and ground control facilities.
- NASA, U.S. Spacewalk 97, August 2026. NASA specifies that the spacewalk is expected to last approximately six and a half hours and will include replacement of the Space-to-Ground antenna supporting high-speed communications between Houston’s Mission Control Center and the orbital complex.
- European Space Agency, Watch Sophie Adenot’s Spacewalk Live, August 17, 2026. ESA confirms Sophie Adenot’s first spacewalk, scheduled for August 18, 2026.
- European Space Agency, ESA Space Environment Report 2025. The report examines the growth of the orbital debris environment and emphasizes that Earth’s orbital environment constitutes a limited resource whose sustainability is essential to the continuity of space activities.
- United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs, Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space, including the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies, 1967. The treaty establishes, among other principles, the prohibition of national appropriation of outer space.
- World Meteorological Organization. Programs and initiatives dedicated to strengthening forecasting, multi-hazard early-warning systems and meteorological resilience across the Caribbean.
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