Contested Orbits: China's Space Ambitions and the Emerging Security Dilemma

By Kajal Kiran Jena 

China’s expanding presence in outer space has quietly, but decisively, become one of the big forces shaping today’s geopolitics. What originally looked like a push for technological modernisation at home has gradually turned into something much more coordinated: a long stretch of planning that links scientific research, industrial policy, and national security in a fairly seamless way. As Beijing has put out a series of planning documents and reorganised its institutions around these goals, its space programme has started to influence how other countries think about strategy. China describes most of this as defensive or developmental, but other states often read it quite differently. That gap is where the security dilemma has begun to grow, pushing regional countries toward more militarisation and leaving less room for cooperation.

The newer policy documents show just how long-term and detailed China’s plans have become. The National Mid- and Long-Term Plan for Space Science (2024 to 2050) sketches out a very broad research agenda that runs all the way to mid-century, including topics like the “extreme universe”, “space-time ripples”, exoplanet habitability, and space life sciences. It also lays out phased deep space missions. Alongside this, the 2021 White Paper explains the political thinking behind the programme: innovation as the driver, civil-military integration, and the idea of building a “space community with a shared future.” Put together, these documents show a sustained commitment to building capabilities across every part of the space domain, not just a few high-visibility projects.

China’s operational systems tell the same story. The PLA, especially its Strategic Support Force, has built space-based ISR directly into military modernisation. BeiDou now offers global coverage, cutting down dependence on the U.S. GPS system and allowing more precise, more autonomous Chinese operations. The Gaofen and Yaogan constellations support real-time monitoring on land and at sea, which improves situational awareness and helps with higher-level targeting and planning.

China’s launch activity has climbed steadily. With around 60 to 70 launches each year, China is now essentially on par with the United States. State firms and a growing private sector get extensive support: money, regulatory help, and incentives for dual-use research. The result is visible in the development of reusable launchers, heavy lift vehicles, and cheaper access to low Earth orbit. Larger commercial-looking projects like the Guowang satellite internet constellation blur the line even further between economic and strategic goals. This overlap makes it genuinely difficult for outsiders to tell where commercial ends and military begins.

The most sensitive part of all this is counterspace capability. China sees space as fragile and contested, which pushes it to invest in tools meant to keep its satellites functioning during crises. Since the debris-creating ASAT test in 2007, China has focused more on reversible or non-destructive systems: co-orbital manoeuvres, proximity operations, grappling mechanisms, direct ascent missiles, cyber tools, and jamming technologies. Chinese officials often frame these as necessary for space situational awareness, but their dual-use potential is hard to ignore, and other states remain wary of their possible offensive use.

This ambiguity is exactly what feeds the security dilemma. Beijing views these measures as essential protection; Washington and others see them as signalling coercive or preemptive intent. The U.S. has responded by creating the Space Force, investing in resilient constellations, and developing its own defensive and rapid launch capabilities. Each side thinks it is acting reasonably; each move convinces the other to prepare for worse. Without transparency or arms control agreements, the spiral only tightens.

China’s lunar plans add another competitive layer. The Chang’e missions have made major breakthroughs: the far side landing and the sample return missions. The proposed International Lunar Research Station with Russia gives China a chance to help shape lunar governance and future resource access. With the Artemis Accords expanding in parallel, the possibility of two different governance systems emerging on the Moon is increasingly real, raising long-term concerns about fragmentation and rivalry.

China’s global ground station network has also raised questions. Stations in South America, Africa, and Central Asia extend China’s tracking and deep space communication capabilities. They are usually presented as civilian science facilities, but their links to Chinese state agencies and their potential military value leave room for strategic worry in host countries.

All of this matters because space is now central to so many day-to-day functions: military C2, communications, navigation, financial networks, and disaster response. Any major state expanding its space capabilities inevitably produces broader strategic effects. China’s rise is not just another technological success; it marks a real shift in an area long shaped by the U.S. and its partners.

But the security dilemma is not only the result of China’s actions. It grows out of weak global governance, a lack of transparency, and outdated legal structures. The Outer Space Treaty of 1967 is not built for today’s issues: dual-use systems, ASAT tests, mega constellations, and resource extraction. As states pursue their own interests independently, the space environment becomes more crowded, more contested, and more open to weaponisation.

If China continues on its current path, and all signs suggest it will, the outcome will depend largely on whether major space powers are willing to restart arms control talks, build confidence-building measures, and set clearer norms for responsible behaviour. Without those efforts, the security dilemma surrounding China’s rise in space will deepen, shaping global stability and the long-term sustainability of outer space activity.

Kajal Kiran Jena is a PhD candidate at the Centre for East Asian Studies, School of International Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University. The views expressed in the above piece are personal and solely those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the views of Kalinga Institute of Indo-Pacific Studies.