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Whitman College

Tournament 2009 File Title

1NC – Short Shell



Outer Space is just a new stage for American Imperialism to exert notions of manifest destiny unto the ‘unexplored’ and ‘unknown’ frontier. The 1AC views space as a new frontier for Eurocentric perspectives. It is this socio-political frontierism conditions United States Space Policy

Young 87

(M. Jane, Professor of American Studies and Regents Lecturer, both at the University of New Mexico, “Parables of the Space Age-The Ideological Basis of Space Exploration,” Western Folklore, October of 1987,DA:6/25/11, CP)
The "mainstream" American view of outer space is a reflection of traditional ideologies, the projection of the past onto the future. The urge toward adventure and exploration-travel into the unknown has been a basic element of folklore and mythology since the early days of Western civilization. One can consider, as Williamson suggests, the Greek myth of Icarus and Daedulus flying through the sky with artificial wings, or the Christian biblical story of the building of the tower of Babel. Both tales describe human attempts to bridge the gap between heaven and earth, both attempts resulted in disaster, and both contain warnings that the gods will punish humans whose hubris (inordinate pride or belief in one's own ability) leads them to overstep their proper place and enter the realm of the gods. Linked with such hubris throughout history has been the Euro-American notion of "manifest destiny," the belief that exploration and consequent exploitation is not only a challenge but a right. Certainly, one outcome of this idea was the European colonization of the "New World," based on the erroneous notion that the land was inhabited only by savage peoples and, therefore, open territory for those from "civilized" nations. The resulting years of struggle and misunderstanding between Western Folklore 46 (October, 1987): 227-233. 227 Euro-Americans and Native Americans arose, in part, because of their differing world views-their conflicting perspectives concerning the relationship between humans and the natural world. Whereas Europeans saw the elements of the cosmos as forces to explore and conquer, the Native Americans regarded them as living beings with whom they attempted to coexist in harmony. For instance, tribes such as the Navajo and Pawnee regarded the sky and earth as beings to whom they were intimately connected; the journey towards understanding these beings was accomplished in the context of ritual activity. Thus, for the Native American, the "real" adventure was internal, an exploration of one's own being in relationship to the cosmos. In contrast, for Euro-Americans the challenge was external. They set out to conquer the wilderness and push the frontier ever westward. Their folk heroes, generally masculine, were those who accomplished this task. Certain characteristics of such folk heroes necessarily changed as the frontier itself changed, but a constant was the image of this hero as a loner, a rugged and aggressive individual who traveled unknown territories, guided always by the spirit of adventure, the thrill of the unknown.' These qualities were embodied in turn by personages such as the woodsman, the pioneer, the cowboy, the oilman, the businessman, and, finally, the spaceman, all characterized as much by their exploitation of the natural environment as by their drive towards exploration. In recent times, as various areas of the earth have been labelled nostalgically as the "last frontier," the need for adventure and for new sources of energy has given rise to the concept of outer space as the "new frontier." Strengthened by representations in the media, the lore of the western frontier has been used to argue for the expanded exploitation and settlement of outer space. The internal/external, Native American/Euro-American contrast mentioned above relates to the way differing peoples regard their bodies as well as to their attitudes toward the relationship between themselves and the cosmos. For example, according to Keith Basso, the Western Apache say that Euro-Americans (or Anglos, whites) are overly concerned with the "surfaces of themselves ... their hair, faces, body, and dress."2 In contrast, the Western Apache are anxious to avoid this form of self-consciousness that pertains only to appearance, rather than to inner reality. Mary Douglas argues similarly that the use of the human body is a significant symbol of social and political order.3 Thus, the Anglos, concerned with the outside of their bodies, and hoping to be noticed, are also concerned with extending their domain, first into the frontier of the American West and now into the frontier of outer space. In contrast, Native American groups such as the Navajo, Zuni, Hopi, and Western Apache pay little attention to the external body. Examples of this are the healing ceremonies that focus on the mind as much as the body. Nor do individuals from these tribes wish to be seen as different or standing out. Significantly, these Native American groups focus on inner-directed experience. The adventure for them has been to live in balance and harmony with the natural world. Since Native Americans travel to the sky in their minds, they have no need to build space shuttles. Stoeltje emphasizes that the metaphor of the frontier as applied to outer space is a false metaphor, a construct that maintains a sense of excitement while obscuring the reality that the endeavor is essentially a materialistic enterprise. Stoeltje adds that the term metaphor implies a similarity between outer space and the western frontier that is lacking; instead, it is the concept of the frontier as entitling myth, as unambiguous justification for an authorative plan of action, which shapes the U.S. space program. Williamson uses his unique position to explore the way in which the concept of outer space as frontier affects the direction of the U.S. space program, suggesting at the same time that the analogy between settling the American West and settling space may be seriously flawed. It has been suggested that the real motivation behind the early Apollo moon shots was political rather than scientific. In fact, a number of the scientists involved have complained that they were not given time between one shot and the next to analyze the material brought back from the moon, nor has such analysis been a major consideration since then.4 One needs only to consider the image of big business as a new frontier to realize that the prime aim of space exploration is not so much to obtain knowledge of the unknown as it is to obtain a replacement for earth's dwindling natural resources. It is only a small leap from this to the assertion that humans have begun to look towards outer space for an almost magical solution to the problems we have created here on earth by our excessively materialistic orientation. Thus, not only is outer space the "new frontier" in the sense of physical exploration, it has also become an arena for the projection of fantasies. Mary O'Drain suggests, for example, that the gods of early Western mythology have given rise to the extraterrestrials of today, those benevolent beings who will have the knowledge and resources to repair the mistakes we have made.5 The answers are located "out there," rather than within ourselves. Another example of this reliance on a "fantastic" solution to earth's dilemma is the tendency in recent times to translate faith in a myth sequence or the tenets of religion into overweening faith in "the wonders of Science." Among modern, technologically-oriented Americans, not only has the belief in UFOs and extraterrestrial beings become the folkloric expression of traditional ideologies, but science has replaced myth as the sacred charter, the system of beliefs that mediate between the known and the unknown. It is for reasons such as these that Williamson advises us to explore the expressive behavior embodied in space exploration. The scientists, engineers, technicians, astronauts and others involved can be regarded as constituting a folk group whose behavior reflects the human role in outer space. This professional "new class" has its own mythologies-systems of signs and signification that serve them in reaching goals consonant with their own particular worldview.6 These myths, in turn, shape reality so that these people are bound to view certain aspects of experience, such as the meaning of outer space and space exploration, from a limited perspective. Although they rationalize this perspective by asserting that it is informed by science rather than myth, and therefore objective, in reality what we call science is just another word for a contemporary, subjective mythology.7 In relating the exploration of outer space to the Euro-American exploration of the frontier, replete with its pioneers, Conestoga wagons, frontiersmen, and so on, this professional new class is appropriating a myth that justifies their activity. The result is a distortion of the frontier experience, the creation of an artificial myth based on an experience that is no longer viable. However, according to Barthes, this "re- constituted myth will in fact be a mythology."8 Furthermore, as Stoeltje points out, the frontier myth itself was from the beginning an artificial myth, created and disseminated largely by members of the Eastern elite who "nurtured a myth that validated the social structure as they preferred it." She describes the frontier of space as a "sociopolitical process ... designed to validate a specific social structure and development during a time of change and upheaval." As Farrer, too, points out, "our stories influence our science which influences our stories." Her conclusion, consonant with all the essays in this section, is that we cannot predicate the future upon the past, that we need a new mythology for a new age. Indeed, it has been argued that we need a new science as well, one that recognizes the subjective nature of all human endeavor and encompasses feeling and intuition as well as logical thought.9 One might question Williamson's labeling the group of professionals directly involved in the U.S. space program as a "folk group." This hinges, of course, on the definition of the folk adopted by contemporary folklorists. One of the most radical definitions is offered by Michael Owen Jones, who suggests that we replace the word "folklore" with the term "human behavior."'0 In such a conceptualization there is little distinction between the elite, popular (mass-mediated), and folk cultural expressions of the mythologies discussed above. Indeed, as early as 1972, Henry Glassie stated that the terms folk, popular, and elite referred not to separate socio-economic classes of people but to opposing mental constructs of the individual. Thus one person could, in different situations, express concepts that were folk, popular, or elite." Similarly, Stoeltje suggests that the folklore process in a complex society "thrives in a web of forces directly connected to the larger world as well as to the intimate relations of the family and tribe." All of these scholars imply, then, that the mythologies of folk, popular, and elite groups operate in a similar manner-as sociocultural processes that serve to validate culture, that create an image of the world particular groups prefer to see, and that justify certain actions and behaviors that are regarded as desirable. Furthermore, many contemporary scholars perceive little real distinction between these groups, other than one based on the idiosyncratic intuition of the folklorist. The proponents of the U.S. space program have consciously constructed the Myth of Space as the New Frontier to justify a materialistic rather than ideological enterprise. And, indeed, the myth has served them well in creating around the astronaut and other professionals involved with the exploration of space, an image of heroes and frontiersmen who venture into the great unknown of space for the good of all humankind. Although this myth has gone largely unchallenged, perhaps because there have been so few tragedies (at least few that the general public has known about) linked with the space program, the recent explosion of the Challenger and deaths of its crew-men and women who could have stepped right out of the pages of Tom Wolfe's The Right Stufjf2-has served to shock many people into wondering if the adventure is worth such loss. Others say that we owe it to the noble crew to continue the program. One newspaper editorial cartoon shows a mourning cowboy leaning against his Conestoga wagon (complete with oxen) as he looks towards seven crosses-the entire scene is set in a star- and planet-studded "frame" of outer space.13 In addition, the awareness of this tragedy, the "very thought of unnecessary loss of life," led to the series of Challengerjokes that rapidly swept the country, a series of "sickjokes" whose underlying motive was the impulse to ward off threats of personal death and global disaster.'4 Not merely examples of extreme tastelessness, what these jokes are really "about" are some crucially serious issues in American culture; they serve as social commentary and critique.15
These notions of Frontierism aren’t new – History can prove the violent and imperial power of such epistemologies. Space is just a new arena for a cycle of massacre and extermination. The 1AC creates new modes cultural, social and political warfare through myths of progression, civilization and modernization.

Slotkin 92

(Richard Slotkin a cultural critic and historian. He is the Olin Professor of English and American Studies at Wesleyan University in Middletown, CT, and in 2010 was elected a member of the Academy of Arts and Sciences wrote award winning trilogy, Regeneration Through Violence, The Fatal Environment, and Gunfighter Nation , 1992, Gunfighter Nation, The Myth of the Frontier in 20th century America, pg 112-114 E169.12 .S57 1992, DA: 6/24/11, CP)
By the terms of the Frontier Myth, once imperial war was conflated with savage war both sides become subject to the logic of massacre. The savage enemy kills and terrorizes without limit or discrimination in order to exterminate or drive out the civilized race. The civilized race learns to respond in kind partly from outrage at the atrocities it has suffered, partly from a recognition that imitation and mastery of the savages’ methods are the best way to defeat them. A cycle of massacre and revenge is thus inaugurated that drives both sides toward a war of extermination. Only an American victory can prevent actual genocide; the savage enemy would indeed exterminate all of the civilized race, but the civilized carry massacre only as far as necessary to subjugate the savage. To achieve victory in such a war, Americans are entitled and indeed required to use any and all means, including massacre, terrorism, and torture. This is the argument implicit in war correspondent Henry Loomis Nelsons account of soldiers thinking about the course of war. The soldier reasoned that, as the United States have imposed upon them the duty of putting down the insurrection, these brown men must be overcome at all hazards; while the war against them must be conducted upon the principals of savage warfare, since most of those who are fighting against us are classed as barbarians. …there are but two possible conclusions to the matter. We must conquer the islands or get out. .. If we decide t stay we must bury all qualms and scruples about Weilerian cruelty, the consent of the governed, ect., and stay. We exterminated the American Indians, and I guess most of us are proud of it, or at least, believe the end justify the means; and that we must have no scruples about exterminating this other race standing in the way of progress and exterminating this other race standing in the way of progress and enlightenment if it is necessary. The use of extermonationist rhetoric by American commanders are correspondents was not intended as the lateral promulgation of a policy of genocide. Rather, it was a polemical device by which to accept the new political measures and changes in our ideological tradition that imperialism would require. The commission of atrocities by American troops was admitted by both pro imperialists and anti imperialists. Indeed, some of the most effective propaganda of the anti imperialists consist of quotations from journalists who cite such incidents with approval. The correspondent of the Philadelphia Ledger offered graphic descriptions of American atrocities but cited them as the inevitable and appropriate methods for prosecuting a savage war. The present war is no bloodless, fake, opera bouffe engagement. Our men have been relentless; have killed to exterminate men, women, children, prisoners and captives, active insurgents and suspected people, from labs of ten and up, an idea prevailing that the Fillipino, as such, was little better then a dog, a noisome reptile in some instances, who’s best disposition was in the rubbish heap. Our soldiers have pumped salt water into men to “make them walk”, have taken prisoner people who… peacefully surrendered, and an hour later, without an atom of evidence to show that they were even insurrections, stood them on a bridge and shot them down one by one, to… float down as an example to those who found their bullet-ridden corpses… It is not civilized warfare, but we are not dealing with civilized people. The only thing they know and fear is force, violence, and brutality, and we give it to them. This sort of frank avowal, not only of the fact but of the logical necessity of atrocious behavior by American troops, ran the risk of providing ammunition for the anti-imperialists. Advocates of the war ran that risk in order to bring the American public to something like an informed consent to the principle of imperialism; the necessity for a superior people to impose its will on a weaker race or nation. The psychological basis for public acceptance of the logic of massacre is the expectation, born of continual cultural reinforcement, that a people defined as savage will inevitably commit atrocities; acts of violence so extreme that they seem to violate the laws of nature. By defining the extreme limit of permissible uses of human power, a culture’s way of defining and responding to atrocity reveals a good deal about the concerns that shape its value system. The recurring themes in accounts of savage war atrocities are those of massacre and torture, particularly by rape and/or sexual mutilation. What rape is in the myth of the “White woman’s captivity, torture and mutilation are to the story of the White males potential victimization by his ”blood enemy.” In these acts, the White victim is held powerless, while his/her body is cruelly manipulated, invaded, and destroyed by a race that-according to “natural law” – ought to be subordinate to the White. The White woman’s body and blood are polluted by the sexual invasion of her genitals and womb; the White man is emasculated, deprived of his manhood through figurative or literal castration. The politics of torture/rape/mutilation are also a parody of revolution in which a natural and legitimate order of subordination is violently and (from the White Man’s perspective) inappropriately reversed. To prevent or avenge such an atrocity, to restore the social balance in which the hegemony of Whites could be taken for granted, the White man must respond with a similarity extraordinary level of violence; for only such a reciprocal atrocity can balance the shame of the original rape. Hence the prevalence of sexual mutilation and rape of Indians when Whites succeeded in suprising a major village, as happened at Sand Creek (1864), the Washita (1869), and White Mountain (1870). But the same rationale and the same propensity for mirror-image atrocities, characterizes American behavior in those struggles we define as similar to savage warefare, particularly in southern lynching campaigns since 1865; and in extreme circumstances, in vilante attacks on labor organizers, like those on IWW agitators.



The Alternative is to embrace a Global Space History – This alternative framework shifts away from nation-centered approaches by de-emphasizing ownership and national borders. This global history would shift our gaze from nations to communities and seeing history as inherently fluid. The Frontier’s myth construction only has power because it assumes a totalizing view of history.

Siddiqi 10 (Asif A. Siddiqi assistant professor of history at Fordham University and member of advisory board at Shahjalal University of Science and Technology. wrote Challenge to Apollo: The Soviet Union and the Space Race, 1945-1974 is widely considered to be the best English-language history of the Soviet space program in print and was identified by the Wall Street Journal as "one of the five best books" on space exploration.[2][3][4] This book was later published in paperback in two separate volumes, Sputnik and the Soviet Space Challenge and The Soviet Space Race with Apollo. Competing Technologies, National(ist) Narratives, and Universal Claims: Toward a Global History of Space Exploration, Technology and Culture, Volume 51, Number 2, April 2010, pg 438-440, DA:6/21/11, CP)
By rethinking the relationship between modernity and the postcolonial state, postcolonial thought challenges us to rethink the connection between modernity and spaceflight, and, ultimately, to replace the “national” with the “global” when thinking of space exploration, an exercise that has become doubly important as dozens of developing countries in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East are now spending money on space exploration. Writing on the history of nuclear power, Itty Abraham has noted that “practically no state travelled alone.”31 Further, Abraham adds: One of the most enduring tropes of nuclear histories is the idea that atomic energy programs are always national programs. The close relation between nuclear power and national power has led to the assumption that, for reasons of security especially, nuclear programs must be uniquely identified with particular countries. Official histories and scientists encourage this belief, for obvious parochial reasons, but it is rarely true. No atomic program anywhere in the world has ever been purely indigenous.32 Abraham’s argument in favor of moving toward a global history of nuclear energy has much to offer to the case of rocketry and space exploration. The available evidence points strongly to similar processes of knowledge flows in the evolution of ballistic missiles and space technology. 33 Every nation engaged in this technology has been a proliferator and has benefited from proliferation; this process of proliferation began in the 1920s when an informal and international network of spaceflight enthusiasts in Europeparticularly in Germany, Austria, France, Poland, Great Britain, and the Soviet Union—and in the United States generated the first substantive exchange on topics related to rocketry and space exploration.34 The development of sophisticated German ballistic missiles in the 1930s benefited from this discourse, as did parallel but less ambitious Soviet efforts to build rockets. In the aftermath of WorldWar II, the remainder of the German missile program—the most developed effort at that point— then fed into several different postwar missile programs, including, of course, those of the United States, the Soviet Union, France, and Great Britain. The Soviet Union in turn passed both German and “indigenous” technology to the Chinese while the Americans did the same for the Japanese. By the mid-1970s, the “space club” included all of these countries, joined in the 1980s by India and Israel, both of which depended on flows from the United States,Western Europe, and the Soviet Union. Europe itself—in the form of international agreements—had many cooperative efforts that blurred distinctions of ownership, even as it gained the “indigenous” capacity for space activity in 1979.35 I am not suggesting that we should ignore nations, national identity, or vital indigenous innovation. But I believe that nation-centered approaches, useful and instructive as they were, occlude from view important phenom- ena in the history of space exploration. My hope is that by deemphasizing ownership and national borders, the invisible connections and transitions of technology transfer and knowledge production will be become clear in an abundantly new way. Such an approach would inform a project encompassing the entire history of modern rocketry and space exploration, from the late nineteenth century to the present, focusing on Europe, America, Russia, and Asia. Most important, a global history of rocketry and space exploration would avoid the pitfalls of the “discursive battles” between nation-centered histories and open up the possibility to revisit older debates in the historiography of space exploration in entirely new ways. Taking a global history approach, one that favors decentering the conventional narrative, would allow historians to redirect their attentions in three ways: we can shift our gaze from nations to communities, from“identification” to identities, and from moments to processes. These three strategies, in one way or another, are inspired by the problems posed by historicizing the ambitions and achievements of emerging space powers, which operate in a postcolonial context where categories such as indigenous, modern, and national are problematic. I offer some brief examples of each below. In the space imagination, nations typically represent airtight constituencies despite evidence to the contrary that communities cutting across borders and cultures—national, institutional, and disciplinary—represent important actors and actions. The most obvious example here, of course, is the German engineers who formed the core of the Army Ballistic Missile Agency in the United States in the 1950s and who later directed the development of the Saturn V rocket that put Americans on the surface of the Moon. Wernher von Braun’s team represented a unique mix of Germans and Americans who worked together with several different communities, from Boeing, North American Aviation (including its separate Space and Rocketdyne divisions), Douglas Aircraft Company, and International Business Machines. These communities represented scientists and engineers, the government and private industry, and customers and contractors. In the rush to draw up airtight national narratives, we inevitably tend to gloss over the ambiguities and flows among each of these communities. By highlighting communities, we can also avoid the reductive problems of essentialization (another way of talking about “national styles” of science and technology) that aspire to explain everything but fail to elucidate much at all.36 Instead, one might think in terms of fluid identities of scientists and engineers engaged in particular projects, identities which are not only tied to national identification but also regional, professional, cultural, religious, and educational markers, to name only a few categories. Using the perspective of mutable identity— able to understand more clearly the ways in which space exploration has not only been a project of national consideration but also the result of communities (or individuals) who identify with a whole host of other markers that are not connected to national claims. In other words, it is a way to problematize the notion that space exploration represents national aspirations. Finally, space historians have tended to focus on moments in history that define the story. For example, we use the notion of “achieving a capability” (the space equivalent of “going nuclear”) as shorthand for encompassing a variety of complex processes. Whether it be the first indigenous launch of a satellite or the first test of a liquid hydrogen rocket engine, these moments become historical signposts, turning points, bereft of the messiness inherent in the process of innovation. As a result, space history slips into the comfort mode of “what and when” instead of the more illuminating path of “how and why.” The focus on process would highlight the ambiguities instead of the binary poles (success, failure) inherent in isolated moments, thus encompassing both the material event and how the event becomes constructed as a historical moment. All of these approaches also reinforce and foster the kind of social history that has become fundamental to most histories of technology but is largely absent in the literature on spaceflight, a lacuna explicable by the fetish for nation-centered cold-war geopolitics as the central organizing framework for most histories of space exploration. Barring a few notable examples, space historians have avoided in-depth inquiries into the lived experiences of large demographics such as engineers, servicemen and -women, military and intelligence personnel, launch crews, staff workers, and spouses and families of engineers. Likewise, little work has been done on public enthusiasm for the space program,mass campaigns in support of space exploration, and popular participation in programs usually identified with state-centered institutions.37 Finally, using analytical categories such as communities, identities, and processes would direct our attention to the problem of “consumption” in the history of space technology. Despite a recent surge of scholarship on the role of consumers in shaping technology and technological systems, we have traditionally focused on production rather than consumption in chronicling the history of spaceflight.38 Who has “consumed” the space different in different circumstances—wemight be program? How do we ascribe identities to them as “consumers”? How and where do producers and consumers of the space program interact? Exploring these questions would open up new areas of investigation and enrich our understanding of the cold-war space race.

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