Excerpt: In October of 2023, the New York Times published an article entitled: “Maybe in Your Lifetime, People Will Live on the Moon and then Mars”. NASA landed on the Moon for the first time over half a century ago, and by 2040 they plan to return—this time, to stay. Outer space colonialism is usually believed to belong to the world of science fiction. But there are very real projects currently underway to ensure that both astronauts and civilians can survive for lengthy periods on the Moon, and thus begin the process of settling space. This includes, for instance, developing 3D printers that could construct homes with the capacity to withstand conditions on the Moon—such as temperatures upwards of 600 degrees, a “vicious combination of radiation and micrometeorites”, and Moon dust “so abrasive it can cut like glass . . . [which] swirls in noxious plumes and is toxic when inhaled” (Kamin 2023). As I detail in my article in the American Political Science Review (Utrata 2023), there are many reasons why one might object to colonies on the Moon. These include the enormous emissions in the midst of the climate catastrophe (Rubenstein 2022; Utrata 2021); the continued dispossession of indigenous lands and displacement of vulnerable communities for rocket launch sites (Sammler and Lynch 2021) and entrenchment of coloniality and colonial relationships (Trevino 2020; Bawaka Country et al. 2020); or the risk of geopolitical conflict and militarization of space (Deudney 2020). However ill-advised colonizing outer space might be, it is often assumed to be fundamentally different from earthly colonialism for one key reason: outer space is actually empty. As Mary-Jane Rubenstein (2022, 158) puts it: ‘Corporate space enthusiasts insist that the game is different this time because the lands they’re aiming for aren’t inhabited… when it comes to space… we can finally feel good about frontierism because we’ve finally got an empty frontier’. In this article, I want to draw out one aspect of my critique about outer space colonialism and its claim to have found genuinely “empty space”, both for what it suggests about the ethics of settling space as well as what it reveals about terrestrial colonization. The problem with colonialism—whether in outer space or on Earth—cannot simply be reduced to a matter of whether spaces are or are not “empty”. Calling something empty presupposes a certain conceptualization of relating to that space, and already begins the process of legitimating and imposing certain forms of (territorially-based) political rule. Space colonies, as David Valentine (2017, 187) has noted, are often purported to offer “a libertarian hope that conscious effort and free enterprise in places where—as I have frequently heard said—“there are no natives” will fix things so that humans can do a more equitable job of colonialism this time around”. For its Silicon Valley supporters, outer space is something of a “technological solution” (to borrow Morozov’s 2013 term) to the ethical issues of colonialism. If new technologies can allow humans to reach lunar lands which are genuine terra nullius, or empty spaces—then what’s wrong with colonizing outer space?