Reading Time: 6 minutes

This article is adapted from AQ’s special report | Leer en español | Ler em português

Earlier this year, Brazil’s telecommunications agency Anatel officially authorized SpaceSail, a broadband constellation often described as China’s equivalent to Starlink, to operate in Brazilian territory. The announcement didn’t generate many headlines, but it deserves more attention. Not because it was a statement about China, but because it was a statement about the region’s desire for options.

Across Latin America, professionals in the space industry are consistently advocating for solutions with sovereignty in mind. Chile’s 2025 National Space Policy calls for national space capabilities to “strengthen autonomy and independence.” Argentina’s defense doctrine reinforces a desire for independent launch access, viewed as a vital component of national defense and sovereignty. A technical working group in Brazil is studying options for a sovereign alternative to the systems that provide position, navigation and timing (PNT) services. And so on.

The autonomy agenda in Latin America is not inherently anti-U.S., nor is it pro-Chinese. It is also not unique to the region. European leaders have the same concerns and are attempting to balance what is nationally developed with what is sourced via partners or the international market. This is not only a function of geopolitics but a response to a sharper awareness of vulnerability and the need for resilience.

Indeed, these recurring ambitions reflect a genuine concern that, as reliance on space technology increases, dependence on foreign space systems is a strategic liability. Autonomy, sometimes alternatively couched as self-sufficiency or sovereignty, has thus become a key organizing concept for Latin American space ambitions. The question is what that means in a global sector, and whether the U.S. is adequately positioning itself to be part of the answer.

The limits of going it alone

There is a version of autonomy that is as headline-grabbing as it is unworkable: fully independent, indigenously developed and controlled space systems that depend on no foreign provider or system. This narrative may stroke nationalistic egos, but it is not realistic. It ignores the gargantuan financial, infrastructure and human resources that would need to be mobilized in the near term and, importantly, maintained in the long term. But it is also misplaced because of something more fundamental: the nature of space itself.

Space activities are global and integrated by both design and physics. The international governance framework that has guided space activities for decades reflects this reality: orbits, spectrum, and the operating environment are all shared resources. Satellite services require ground infrastructure distributed across the planet. Even full-scale PNT systems depend on a global geodetic supply chain for a common understanding of time and space. To be clear, competition, conflict, and structural asymmetries are real, but they coexist with an unavoidable need for coordination. No country operates in space truly alone. Interdependence is the nature of the domain.

This creates a genuine tension at the heart of the space autonomy narrative. Reducing vulnerability is important, but it should not be confused with pursuing total technological independence. That is not only infeasible; it can be counterproductive. In the region’s fragmented space ecosystems, efforts to build independent capabilities, without the governance and institutional frameworks to use them effectively, may just relocate risk.

Owning a satellite does not mean you control everything needed to use it. A country can build its own system to take images of its territory from space and still depend on foreign weather data, additional commercial imagery, partner analytics, and secure communications to turn those pictures into actionable information, such as during a natural disaster. A cyberattack on a communications link, an unclear chain of command, or a licensing restriction on how data can be shared can each render a sovereign asset far less useful than it appears. Autonomy that focuses on one piece of the puzzle can lead to a false sense of security.

The more useful frame is not independence, but resilience and the ability to make informed decisions. Autonomy in space should be perceived as maintaining the ability to manage risk, select appropriate approaches, and negotiate with partners from a position of competence, avoiding arrangements that constrain future options. That is a different goal, and it leads to different strategies.

Who gets to define autonomy?

The SpaceSail story reflects the logic of autonomy more than any particular affinity for Chinese technology. In the last few years, leaders in the region watched with concern, perceiving Starlink access as unreliable, if not capricious, even as it shaped military outcomes in Ukraine. Closer to home, Brazilian media speculated openly in 2025 about whether Washington might weaponize access to GPS during a low point in bilateral ties. While that was never likely, it reinforced a desire to protect freedom of action and invest in the capacity to act independently. From a Brazilian policy perspective, having a viable alternative to Starlink, even a Chinese one, expands the menu of options.

The choices made while building capacity at speed can have long-term consequences. These choices involve what partners to work with, standards to adopt, and technologies to integrate. The 2024 memorandum of understanding between Brazilian telecommunications company Telebras and SpaceSail included language that referred to a possible Brazilian subsidiary to enable investment, knowledge-sharing around the “governance and operational mechanisms of space infrastructures,” and potential joint projects. These additional aspects may increase the agreement’s value for Brazil, but could also complicate the stated goal of “guarantee[ing] the independence and autonomy of the State.”

On the practical side, building infrastructure around Chinese operational standards, procedures, suppliers, and technology could create constraints that limit interoperability with other systems, akin to attempting to plug a U.S. device into an Argentine socket. On the political side, certain choices will be incompatible with foreign export control rules or cybersecurity requirements, potentially limiting Brazil’s room for maneuver elsewhere in its space ecosystem. This may prevent deeper engagement on space situational awareness (SSA) with U.S. security partners and future commercial opportunities.

Another concern is that autonomy narratives often fail to specify which capabilities are truly critical and should be prioritized. Countries thus risk pursuing programs without sufficient depth or attention to vulnerability. This is especially problematic in a sector that is resource-intensive, technically unforgiving, and still perceived by the public as a luxury. The emphasis on launch capability is a useful example. An operational launch site does not automatically lead to a functioning space ecosystem, let alone an autonomous one. It is one part of an equation that includes satellite development, mission operations, data processing, governance capacity, skilled personnel, and institutions capable of actually using space information. A country that puts too many of its resources into the launch basket may still depend on others for the systems it needs to manage agriculture, monitor illegal fishing or support national security.

The risk, then, is not that Latin American actors are pursuing autonomy in space. It is that they may pursue it in ways that curtail the flexibility that autonomy is supposed to deliver.

U.S. partners in the mix

This is where U.S. entities, both governmental and commercial, have a genuine but underemphasized opportunity. The U.S. commercial space industry now offers regional partners much more than discreet products or services. A growing number of companies provide “sovereign solutions”—dedicated satellite capacity, proprietary ground infrastructure, and advanced information products licensed in ways that preserve operational independence. Earth observations company Planet, for example, sells not just data but satellites and end-to-end architectures. Slingshot Aerospace offers a comparable range on the SSA front, including dedicated sensors for direct access to tailored orbital data.

This speaks directly to what many Latin American governments want: not black-box offerings that deepen dependence, but solutions that expand national capacity and build relationships.

With space such a highly regulated and politically sensitive sector, however, this opportunity will not grow on its own. U.S. companies need more active government support to win against foreign vendors offering competitive options under less stringent technology transfer rules. The administration’s 2025 National Security Strategy hints at commercial diplomacy. That should translate into facilitating market access, aligning export frameworks with partnership goals, and providing backstopping through insurance to mitigate risks. It should also mean adopting a model of engagement akin to the Comprehensive Dialogues on Space held with Japan and France to bring U.S. industry into bilateral engagement.

Today, U.S. space engagement in the Americas is meaningful but disjointed. A stronger U.S. offer would be not just military cooperation, not just scientific data sharing, and not just commercial sales, but one that aligns these to advance shared priorities.

Autonomy is not isolation

For the U.S. to embody the often-used phrase “partner of choice” in Latin America, it must do more than just show up. It requires a deliberate effort to better connect U.S. civil, commercial and defense activities. This means adopting an integrated approach to engagement, exchanging information across agencies, and leveraging official visits, relevant conferences and trade shows for U.S. government and non-government entities to build relationships with their counterparts. It means intentionally directing diplomatic resources to help U.S. business compete and succeed.

Being a strong partner means recognizing that the U.S. advantage is not hardware alone, but also the training, workflows, standards, best practices, and project-management excellence that turn space capabilities into operational value. Done well, this would move the conversation beyond “choose the U.S. or else” and position the U.S. space sector to help regional partners build real capacity: the capacity to choose.

Autonomy and alignment are not opposites. In space, where systems are global and threats are shared, genuine autonomy is built through diversified, interoperable partnerships, resiliency that enables actors to allocate risk smartly, to know when to tap into domestic or partner-provided tools, and when to opt for non-space solutions. The U.S. has more to offer on that agenda than it is currently delivering.

Tags: Latin America's Space Race, Space