On Being More Equal

The first half of 1994 proved a rocky period in which both the RSA and NPO Energia tested the authority of NASA over the Russian space program. Through the course of negotiations—and renegotiations—NASA used the SSF structures dictating US leadership to legitimate authority over the ISS.

NASA reported that in this period the RSA (1) attempted to coerce NASA into fully funding all Phase II contributions, in spite of agreements to the con­trary (outlined earlier in the $305 million/$95 million split); (2) expected to command and control their FGB cargo module and then, after the arrival of other segments, enjoy “joint control”; (3) wanted to be recognized as coequals with the United States: the Russians refused to sign an interim agreement on the ISS hinting that the Space Station Freedom power relations were inapplicable to them; (4) refused to sign up to the barter system, which tried to minimize the exchange of funds among partners; (5) denied the notion of a unified interna­tional crew, expecting to pilot “their” modules as they saw fit and be compen­sated for the transport of all crew to and from the station on their vehicles.76

In the ensuing negotiations, NASA officials were emphatic the Russians had been invited to participate in a preexisting managerial structure in which “NASA has always taken the lead role in the Space Station program and had final authority to resolve conflict.” As had been the case in the original Space Station Freedom plans and Space Station Alpha, the facility would operate as a single integrated vehicle, commanded and controlled by the United States, which had by far invested the most energy and resources into the venture.77

As a result, by electing to join the former Space Station Freedom partners, Russian officials not only committed to providing specific modules to the station, heavy lift capability, and auxiliary command and control centers, they also placed their technologies and workforce within preexisting structures of authority, designating NASA the “lead partner” on the International Space Station. Yet Russian Space Agency officials demonstrated obvious reluctance in submitting to American authority.

At a meeting on June 16, 1994, NASA and the RSA addressed a number of con­cerns centering on interpretations of what constituted “Russian territory” and the jurisdiction of Russian law over Americans. Initially, the RSA had intended to oper­ate its ISS modules independent of the rest of the craft, staffed by cosmonauts using Russian as the operating language. It took considerable work for the Americans to convince their partners that enlistment in ISS presumed that it would function as a unified and integrated craft as SSF plans had dictated. Communication regarding safety and critical operations would be in English. This included labels, displays, placards, onboard flowcharts, schematics, and printed procedures.

Policymakers were equally concerned with legal jurisdiction back on earth.

US officials took a keen interest in the allocation and use of American dollars, since funding for space cooperation was intended to aid the recovery of research and manufacturing (read: “nonprogrammatic concerns”). The fact that Russian contributions to the space station were being bankrolled increasingly by NASA led to a situation in which Americans sought a degree of authority over relations between the Russian government and industry. Initially, this was troublesome.

In 1994 NASA officials expressed concern over the awarding of American dollars to Russian subcontractors. Expressing a desire to preserve/contain the Russian R&D infrastructure, one official reported that the RSA had refused to farm out work to institutions that NASA had deemed “key subcontractors” in the Russian research community. Instead, the RSA maintained that they held absolute authority over subcontract allocation.78 Moreover, the RSA refused to report back to NASA on subcontracting procedures. What NASA requested were characterized as “minimal information on research subcontractors” and even those reports were in a simplified and reduced format of “just a few pages.”

This situation was troubling to NASA representatives, considering the fact that such information was needed to ensure that the Russian research commu­nity was being “properly supported by NASA funds” at a particularly precarious point in time. According to a 1994 briefing book, the Russian Space Agency was “generously paid” for such line items as subcontractor reports. Some officials went so far as to speculate that this evasion of responsibility was an expression of NPO Energia’s influence over the RSA.79 Whereas it was acceptable for NASA to provide advance notice of inspection prior to arriving at manufacturing facili­ties, the RSA’s notion that “Russian law will apply to all aspects of the con­tract performance within Russia” was simply untenable. What resulted appears to have been a three-way competition for authority among NASA, the RSA, and NPO Energia. If the RSA insisted on being an equal to NASA, complete with final decision-making authority over its own subcontractors, then NPO Energia might exercise a higher degree of authority over itself and subcontrac­tors. Administrator Goldin’s briefing book explained:

Since the signing of the 15 Dec Accord we have experienced a consistent effort by the Russians to alter the principles of the 1 Nov Addendum. The Russians consider themselves an equal partner and they wish to alter the IGA, MOU and JMP to reflect this concept. They expect to be paid for any services that are not needed for their ‘core segment’ which is basically the MIR II. They do not accept the concept of [the ISS being] a single integrated vehicle orchestrated by NASA.80

This tension among NASA, the RSA, and Energia was exacerbated by change orders to contracts, demanding extra funds from NASA for goods and services NASA believed were already settled. Internally, NASA officials characterized this as an “unacceptable” move on the part of NPO Energia that was “trying to control dollars” over which the space agencies ought to have had jurisdiction. NASA suspected that the Russian Space Agency had more or less been put up to requesting redundant contracts for research program support. Similarly, the two were charging “exorbitant” fees for cosmonaut time on American projects, even charging “multiple times in and out of the central contract.”81 Table 8.3 reflects what the Russian space program attempted to charge, not necessarily what the United States agreed to pay.82

Perhaps, too, high expectations for autonomy stemmed from conditions in the (still unfolding) Shuttle-Mir agreements. As guests of the Russian-built and operated Mir space station, astronauts and NASA officials reported that they could agree to RSA authority on the operation of the Mir. Indeed, “no one in NASA would want to challenge that RSA authority.” However, ISS agreements

dictated that the Russian modules on the ISS were a very different matter and there “we cannot accept that Russian law will apply co-equal to US law on the ISS.”83 In spite of these agreements, Russian Space Agency officials viewed their autonomy on Mir as a precedent for Russian-built modules on the ISS.

Indeed, ISS planners still operated under a number of uncertainties through the mid – and late 1990s. Between 1993 and 1997, Russian capabilities of meet­ing deliverables and deadlines slipped steadily. In 1994 NASA decided to pur­chase the FGB module outright in order to assure the RSA’s receipt of funds as well as timely completion of the project. In 1995 the United States agreed to extend Shuttle-Mir operations in order to funnel more funds into the ailing aerospace infrastructure to help cover expenses in logistics support.84 In 1996 the Russians acknowledged that the Service module would be eight months late, due to funding shortages suffered by the RSA, leading NASA to pur­sue backup plans, such as funding the Naval Research Laboratory’s Interim Control Module (a 1980s project designed by the NRL’s Naval Center for Space Technology).85

This spectrum of projects entailed a number of challenging obligations for Russians. Though a much-welcomed windfall, the money was not by any means to be seen as foreign “aid.” NASA and the White House officials agreed that funds being sent overseas would help preserve Russia’s aerospace infrastructure, but US law demanded concrete products and definable services in exchange—a docking mechanism, metallurgical data, technical training, and the like. During negotiations in November 1993, the Russians stated explicitly that they were prepared to adopt the expense of responsibilities beyond the $95 million “as a matter of national pride.”86 However, as time passed, missed deadlines, shortage of funds, and general noncompliance on the part of Russia began to complicate matters. To the consternation of many, the United States began to shoulder an increasing share of the financial burden.